


The Tower

by pavelyan (madzilla84)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Fluff, M/M, Trespasser DLC spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 12:01:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 105,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5416145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madzilla84/pseuds/pavelyan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sequel to <i>Dragon Age: Inquisition</i>, set after the Trespasser DLC.</p><p>Following the dissolution of the Inquisition, conspiracies, politics, dark magic and distance threaten to tear former Inquisitor Oscar Trevelyan and newly-minted Magister Dorian Pavus apart forever, as they adjust to their new lives hundreds of miles apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Broken in the Light

Ancient magic crackled in the air, sending a shiver down Oscar Trevelyan’s spine. On his knees in front of the huge, mirrored portal in front of him, grasping his shimmering left arm, he could only watch as his former ally and friend – the fabled Dread Wolf himself – disappeared into the eluvian. His final words to Oscar hung in the air.

_I’m sorry. Live well, while time remains._

Whatever Solas had done to the Anchor in Oscar’s palm before he had left, the pain had stopped in an instant; Oscar’s whole arm had immediately gone numb, as though it had been severed.

Magic still burned in it, though, so bright he could barely stand to look at it. Squinting, he saw motes of light falling away, dissolving into nothing before they could hit the ground. A curious lightness came over his arm, and to his growing alarm he found he could no longer move his fingers.

Desperately clutching the lifeless hand in his other, his heart hammering, Oscar chanced a look down at his arm.

Now, it was almost unrecognisably an arm, the Fade energy still crackling and consuming. He watched in mute horror as it burned brighter still, too bright, the limb beneath becoming less solid, light shining from within and without.

The light began to spread up his arm, leaving nothing behind in its wake. He could only screw up his face as he waited for the inevitable.

This was how it would end, then – to simply fade away, dissolve into dust, into nothing, just like his predecessor had.

 _I’m so sorry, Dorian,_ he thought, letting his eyes close, trying to call his lover’s face to mind as he waited for the end.

_“Inquisitor!”_

The shout made his head snap up. That was Cassandra’s voice. He twisted frantically, trying to see his friends, but there was no sign of them. He licked his dry lips.

“Over here!” he called, his voice sounding thin even to his own ears.

Moments later he heard their footsteps on the slope behind him, and his stomach twisted in relief as he saw Dorian crest the hill ahead of the others. When the eluvian had sealed behind him, blocking the others from following, he’d thought he’d never see them again.

Dorian dropped to his knees at Oscar’s side, gripping him around the shoulders. His breathing was ragged.

“You’re still alive,” he breathed. “Thank the Maker. Are you hurt?”

Oscar didn’t look up at him for several long moments, and eventually Dorian followed his gaze downwards with a sharp intake of breath as he saw what was happening.

Oscar barely registered Cassandra’s cry of shock behind him. Dorian began pouring magic into Oscar’s arm, but it was too late. The last of the green glow from the Anchor flickered and died, and Oscar blinked in surprise.

It was over. Solas _had_ saved him, after all – but at a great cost. The lower part of his arm was gone, his chainmail hanging loose and limp.

“ _Amatus_ ,” said Dorian, choked. “I – I’m sorry. I tried to -”

Oscar nodded dully, raising his remaining hand to cradle the back of Dorian’s head.

“I know,” he said.

“I thought we’d be too late. I thought you –“ Dorian stopped, his voice tight.

Oscar smoothed his thumb over Dorian’s cheekbone.

“So did I,” he breathed.

“Was Solas here?” asked Cassandra, after a moment.

“Yes,” said Oscar, struggling to keep his voice steady. “He was here. He – took the Anchor. I suppose it was just too late for the arm. The magic burned it away.” Dorian’s grip around his shoulders tightened.

“But you’ll be okay now, yeah?” said Sera. “Without the Mark?”

“I - I think so,” said Oscar. “Yes.” He met Dorian’s shining eyes, and the latter smiled, bringing a palm to his cheek.

“Then that’s all that matters,” he said firmly. “Can you walk?”

“Yes,” said Oscar, and struggled to his feet, supported by Dorian on one side and Cassandra on the other. He felt weary from the long battles, not to mention everything Solas had told him, and leaned heavily on his friends.

Sera picked up his golden sword from the ground nearby. It had been a gift from Dorian, and she knew he would have been upset to leave it behind. Lying nearby was his pointed dragon bone shield, but as she reached for it, Oscar spoke.

"Leave it,” he said dully. “I won’t be needing it any more.”

As they began the long journey back to Halamshiral, Oscar focused on simply walking, putting one foot in front of the other. After a short while he felt stronger, the movement helpful, and patted Cassandra’s hand where it maintained an iron grip on his good arm. She released him with a relieved smile.

“What happened with Solas?” said Dorian. “I didn’t see him.”

Oscar paused for a long moment before speaking. So much had been revealed to him in such a short time he hardly knew where to begin.

“We were wrong about Solas being an agent of Fen’Harel.” He paused. “He _is_ Fen’Harel.”

There was a resounding silence at this piece of information.

“That’s impossible,” said Sera after a moment. “He couldn’t be. He’s _Solas_. Grumpy Solas. Likes little cakes and his own voice. He couldn’t be a thousands-of-years-old ancient all-powerful -”

“He is,” said Oscar. “He was the one who let Corypheus get hold of the orb. He was planning to get it back for himself after Corypheus was killed opening it, but it didn’t work out as he planned.”

“Why?” said Cassandra in disbelief. “What was he trying to accomplish?”

“He wanted the Anchor,” said Oscar. “Thousands of years of magic had built up inside the Orb. He planned to use it to tear down the Veil, and correct his mistake from thousands of years ago - that he says destroyed his people.”

“But tearing down the Veil – that would destroy the world,” said Dorian.

“He knows that,” said Oscar wearily. “He says it’s regrettable, but necessary, despite the value he came to see in this world.”

“Meaning you,” said Dorian.

“Not just me,” he said. “Many things he saw with the Inquisition.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Partly through his many spies, I imagine.”

“Spies?” said Cassandra. “Solas had spies working in the Inquisition?”

“Not just Solas,” said Oscar. “There have been Qunari spies working in the Inquisition for years. And Maker knows how many others.”

“How is that possible?” spat Cassandra.

Oscar shrugged. “We welcomed all the help we could get when we were forming. Perhaps it’s my fault. Perhaps I wanted so badly to believe that people genuinely wanted to help, that I didn’t stop to consider the potential they might be spies.”

“If our spymaster didn’t root them out, you could hardly be expected to,” said Dorian.

“She’s been rather busy these past few years,” said Oscar wryly. “I had faith in her successors, but perhaps the Qunari and Solas took advantage of the change. He sighed. “There was a period after we defeated Corypheus when we let our guard down, you have to admit.”

“I said the servants were acting weird,” said Sera.

“And you were right,” said Oscar. “Charter and the others had already been taking steps, but – I hadn’t realised quite how far it had gone.” He became silent, as the implications sank in.

“Let’s hope we don’t meet any more Qunari on the way home,” said Dorian, still walking close to Oscar’s side. His tone was conversational, and Oscar couldn’t help but be reminded of Leliana’s words back in the dark, future Redcliffe they’d seen. _You’re talking to fill silence._

Rather than be annoyed, as Leliana had been, Oscar was deeply grateful for the sound of Dorian’s voice; a sound he’d thought to never hear again.

“We won’t,” he replied. “Solas has control of the entire eluvian network now.”

“That’s hardly comforting,” said Dorian. “But at least we know he isn’t trying to kill us right at this moment.”

“Exactly, or he would have done so already,” said Oscar. “Those stone Qunari, and the viddasala - they were all his work. I saw him do it. He didn’t even blink.”

“Do we know what he plans to do next?” said Cassandra.

“Not specifically,” said Oscar. “I know what he plans, but as to where he’s gone or how he plans to do it – I don’t know.” He frowned. “I don’t know if he’ll be able to use the Anchor in the way he planned. I didn’t see it appear on him. It’s possible that my having acquired it prevented it from ever being used by another. Corypheus said as much.”

“Well, that’s something,” said Dorian. “The Orb built up its power over millennia, so he won’t be able to use that again, unless he goes back into another long sleep.”

“And we’ll all be dead,” said Sera.

“True,” said Oscar after a beat. “But I rather think he planned to make his move a little sooner. The longer he waits, the longer his people continue to suffer, I think is how he sees it.”

“I can’t believe it,” said Cassandra, her eyebrows knotted together. “To think I _trusted_ Solas. I welcomed him into the Inquisition. “

“We all trusted him,” said Oscar. “We had no reason not to. He saved me after the Conclave, and led us to Skyhold.”

“Why _did_ he do that?” said Dorian.

“He understood that Corypheus needed to be defeated, and saw the Inquisition as the best chance to do so,” said Oscar. “Skyhold was once his fortress.”

Dorian was silent for a moment.

“Of course,” he said. “’The place where the sky was held back’. That must have been where he raised the Veil.”

“That would make sense,” said Oscar. “It fits with what Morrigan told me about the old magic permeated into the place.” He shook his head sadly. “It also means the Inquisition cannot remain there. Not with Solas returned to full strength.”

“You think he intends to retake Skyhold?” said Cassandra.

“I don’t, actually,” said Oscar. “It would be too obvious. That’s exactly what we would expect. But he knows the place too well, and knows we’re based there. While Skyhold remains our base, we’re a sitting duck for Solas’s forces.”

“But where will we go?” said Cassandra. Oscar took a moment before replying, his expression thoughtful.

“Depending on how the Exalted Council ends,” he said, “we may not need to go anywhere.”

“Inquisitor?” said Cassandra, a question in her voice.

They had reached the final eluvian that would return them to the Winter Palace, and Oscar paused in front of it.

“I came to the Winter Palace believing the Inquisition could still do good in the world. That’s what I’ve been telling myself these past years. And I believe we have been doing so, but – “ He looked down. “It may be the case now that the good we might do is outweighed by the damage we could cause even without realising it. We’ve even been doing so since we got here. The gaatlok barrels came in with us, after all.”

“That was hardly our fault,” said Cassandra.

“Perhaps,” said Oscar.  “But it makes an excellent point.”

“Which is?”

“We’ve become too big, too powerful. And that power is threatening the very peace it was assembled to save.”

Oscar sighed, rolling his head back and forth. Once the Council was done, he’d sleep for a day straight. Maybe a week.

“Come on,” he said. “We need to let everyone know what’s happened.”

With a look back at his friends, he stepped through the eluvian.

They walked into an immediate maelstrom of chaos; a full complement of Inquisition soldiers armed to the teeth, weapons pointed directly at them.

“Stand down!” called a soldier, as realisation set in. “It’s the Inquisitor.”

“You can stand down the rest of your people,” said Oscar. “The Qunari threat has been subjugated.”

“Yes, Your Worship,” said the soldier, hurrying off to inform Cullen. Oscar realised he didn’t even know the man’s name. There were so many soldiers in the Inquisition now that it was impossible for him to keep track of them all, but even now, how many of them could be working for Solas? Or the Qunari? Or Maker-knew-who-else?

The remaining soldiers had started muttering to each other as they noticed Oscar’s missing arm.

“Come on,” murmured Oscar to his friends. “Let’s find out what happened while we were gone.”

Exiting the room containing the eluvian, the solders staring after him in shock, he almost bumped into Cullen, who was hurrying to meet him.

“Inquisitor,” he said. “I trust you –“

Cullen stopped mid-sentence as his sweeping gaze took in Oscar’s arm.

“Maker,” he whispered. “Inquisitor, I – “

“It’s alright, Cullen,” said Oscar. “It was the only way. The Anchor is gone.”

“I – see,” said Cullen. “May I ask what happened?”

Oscar gave him a brief rundown of what had happened – the Dragon’s Breath, the viddasala, his encounter with Solas. Cullen’s eyes grew wider and wider, and when he heard the news about the Dread Wolf, his expression became one of pure fury.

“To think we trusted the man, took his advice!” he spat. “He could have walked us right into a trap. And now we don’t even know which of our people are truly ours.”

“We can’t start thinking like that,” said Oscar quietly, lest the soldiers overhear. “Looking at everyone as if they’re an enemy. That was the sort of thinking that got southern Thedas into such a mess in the first place. If we have any chance at standing against Solas then we have to trust each other.” His expression became sad. “You know we have good people. Unfortunately, there are some who’ve taken advantage of that, of all of us.”

“So how do we separate the ones we can trust from the ones we can’t?”

Oscar rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“What’s been happening with the Council?” he asked Cullen.

“They’ve been in session most of the day,” he said. “I haven’t been in myself, but my messengers reported a great deal of shouting, and not a lot of decision-making.” He smirked, though there was little humour in it. “They seem quite lost without you, Inquisitor.”

“They’re in session now?”

“Yes.”

“Then you must excuse me. I should report to the Council. Please gather the others.”

“I – yes, Inquisitor.”

Oscar turned to Dorian and spoke in a low voice, so only he could hear.

“Can you come with me?” he murmured. “I may need your help.”

“Of course,” said Dorian, frowning slightly. “But shouldn’t you take a moment before –“

“No,” said Oscar. “It’s time this ended. Dragging it out won’t help matters.”

He sped off down the stairs towards the armory, Dorian on his heels, ignoring the stares and gasps of the nobles at the empty, flapping chainmail at his side.

The young squire who often helped Oscar into his golden armour was sitting on a large trunk in the armory when Oscar and Dorian arrived, half asleep, and jumped to his feet as they entered.

"My Lords!” he squeaked. “I wasn’t expecting –“

“Get this off me,” said Oscar, unusually curt.

The boy’s nimble fingers worked quickly, and soon the armour was stacked neatly in a pile.

“Would his Worship like me to –“

“That’s all, you’re dismissed,” Oscar said to the boy, who hurried off. Oscar opened the trunk and pulled out his formal tunic. Slinging it over a chair, he began to work – somewhat awkwardly – on the buttons of his leather gambeson. After watching him struggle for a few moments, Dorian could stand it no longer.

“Here,” he said, batting Oscar’s hand away gently and easing open the rest of the buttons.

“Thank you,” said Oscar in a monotone, and shrugged out of the jacket, letting it fall to the ground. He picked up the red formal, and – with some difficulty – got his arms into it.

Dorian stepped forward wordlessly and worked at the buckles and sashes. Oscar’s gaze remained fixed at a point over Dorian’s shoulder. Once Oscar was dressed, he turned, and the empty sleeve swung around, slapping against his waist. He grasped it with his other hand.

“Give me your knife,” he said to Dorian.

“Not so fast,” the other man replied. “We can pin it.”

“What’s the point?” Oscar snapped.

“Only that it won’t make you look like some sort of ragged pirate,” said Dorian, unfastening a clasp from his own outfit. Oscar couldn’t help but smile, and held out the arm.

"Fine,” he said. “I suppose Josephine would never let me hear the end of it if I cut the sleeve off.”

Dorian rolled and pinned the sleeve neatly and straightened the blue sash across Oscar’s shoulders.

“Let’s get your boots changed,” he said. “And then you’d better go and deal with the restless natives.”

Oscar sat silently on top of the chest as Dorian pulled off his boots, and helped him tug on the dress set.

“Okay,” he said. “At least I only have to worry about finding _one_ glove.”

Dorian smiled sadly. 

Oscar opened the chest and removed from it a large and familiar tome, with the sunburst seal of the Chantry on the front.

“Ready?” said Dorian.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” said Oscar, and strode towards the council chamber.

 

*          *          *

 

Most of the Inquisition’s Inner Circle were assembled outside the council chambers. The Inquisitor had walked in, head held high, and now they waited to hear what the outcome of the Council would be. Cassandra was inside, but the rest of them could only wait.

Those who had not accompanied the Inquisitor to the Darvaarad had been updated by Dorian, and were currently absorbing the news.

“I can’t believe he lost his arm,” said Rainier, shaking his head. “For a warrior, that’s almost as bad as death.”

“Hardly,” said Dorian archly.

“He won’t be able to fight again.”

“Sure he will,” said the Iron Bull. “I know a guy with one arm _and_ one leg, and he could kick your ass from here to Seheron.”

"How’s he going to hold a shield?” said Rainier.

“He’ll just have to get a bigger sword,” said Bull with a shrug.

“That’s your answer for everything, Chief,” said Krem. “’Get a bigger sword’.”

“Well, it always works,” said Bull. “Am I right?”

Dorian stepped away from the group, his expression troubled. Varric followed him.

“You holding up okay, Sparkler?” he said. Dorian considered.

“I suppose so,” he said.

“And the Inquisitor?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Dorian. “He barrelled onward, as he always does. He barely took a moment’s breath after we got back before going to the council.”

“Even I couldn’t have written this story,” said Varric, shaking his head. “The dashing hero heads off to certain death, only to be saved at the last minute by an old friend, who turns out to have been the villain all along.”

“When you put it like that, it _would_ make a good book,” said Dorian.

“No, it wouldn’t,” said Varric.

“No?”

“It’s so ridiculous, no one would believe it.”

Dorian smiled.

The group all spun around as one as the doors to the council chamber opened, and Oscar emerged. From within, they could hear a great deal of shouting. Oscar closed the doors behind him, cutting off the hubbub.

“Well?” said Vivienne, as blunt as ever. Oscar looked around the group, who were all watching him expectantly.

“It’s over,” he said. “The Inquisition has been disbanded.”

The rest of his Inner Circle exchanged shocked looks.

“On whose order?” said Rainier, surprise in his voice.

“Mine,” said Oscar. “As I said to the Council, it’s time for our soldiers to lay down their swords, as the original Inquisition did once their purpose had been fulfilled. We’ve done what we set out to do. We simply aren’t needed any more, and as it stands may even be causing more harm than good.”

“I agree, I suppose – though I wish that Fereldan ambassador wasn’t going to be so bloody happy about it,” grumbled Rainier.

“The Magisterium will be pleased, too,” said Dorian. “Such a pity.”

“I’m sure you’ll piss them off soon enough,” said Bull.

“Count on it,” said Dorian with a sly smile.

“What of Solas?” said Cullen. “Who will stand against him if the Inquisition is no more? Did you tell the Council about him?”

“They know,” said Oscar. “And will probably make preparations of their own. We’ve no control over that, and wouldn’t even if we were still the Inquisition. But they don’t know Solas like we do.” He looked around at them all.

“I do not believe Solas is completely beyond redemption. He could simply have let me die, and there would be no one left who knew of his plan, or his real identity. But he did not. I believe that says a great deal about him, and I believe we can still save him.”

“You place far too much faith in Solas, Trevelyan,” said Vivienne. “He betrayed you, caused the war with Corypheus and is now actively trying to destroy the world. He must be defeated.”

“Is that even possible?” said Cullen. “The way the Herald described his power … without the Inquisition’s forces, we may not be able to.”

“We beat Coryphenus without armies,” said Sera. “And he couldn’t even die until right at the end. Solas _can_ die. And he should.”

“Sera,” said Oscar reproachfully.

“He wants. To destroy. The world,” said Sera, as though Oscar were very deaf, or very stupid. “Even Coryphelus wasn’t trying to do that. He was upfront about being an arsehole. Solas told us all these pretty lies so we’d trust him, and we did. If I see him again, he won’t get a chance to say anything.”

"I have to believe there’s some way to reason with him,” said Oscar.

"That’s so you,” said Sera. “Thinking there might be some good when there isn’t. He won’t care. He’ll kill you along with the rest of us.”

“He didn’t kill me when we spoke. He could have.”

“He likes you, sure,” said Sera. “But he likes his stupid elfy shit more. He didn’t have to choose between you and elves there, but when he does, you’re dead.”

“We will need to make plans of our own,” said Cassandra, who had joined them.

“How’s it going in there?” said Oscar.

“There is still a lot of shouting.”

“Of course there is,” said Oscar.

“They will get used to the idea,” said Cassandra. “Then the endless arguments about how to divide up the Inquisition’s resources will begin.”

“Something to look forward to,” said Oscar wryly. He turned to his friends, who were still gathered around.

“Since this will probably be one of the last times we’ll all be together,” he said to them, “I’d just like to thank you all for your service, and your friendship. It has been my singular honour to fight alongside every one of you, and should you ever need me, you have but to send word.” He glanced down at his arm. “Though, I might not be much use in a fight for a while.”

A frisson of laughter passed around the group, and Dorian looked at Oscar, pride shining in his eyes.

“I hope we can arrange one last get-together before you all leave,” said Oscar.

“Hell yeah,” said Bull. “If there’s one thing we need after all this, it’s drinks!”

“Agreed,” said Oscar.

“But first, some sleep,” said Dorian, stepping forward. “And perhaps a bath,” he whispered to Oscar, wrinkling his nose. Oscar shook his head in amusement.

“May I remind you I’ve spent most of the last day fighting hordes of Qunari, _and_ politicians?”

“Exactly,” said Dorian.

“Fine,” said Oscar. “I really should speak to Josephine before we  -“

"Go and get some rest, Inquis – Oscar,” said Cassandra. “We can deal with all of this in the morning.” Her expression softened. “You have been through quite enough for one day.”

Oscar’s smile faded.

“Alright,” he said. “Until tomorrow, everyone.”

He left them in the courtyard to head to his chambers, Dorian at his side. As an official ambassador, Dorian had his own suite of rooms in the guest wing of the palace, but propriety be damned, he thought to himself as he followed Oscar to the latter’s room.

Their relationship was common knowledge, anyway. Given his new position he should probably have been more concerned, but he simply couldn’t bring himself to care. This must be how Oscar must have felt when he became Inquisitor, he mused, as the servants preparing Oscar’s rooms scuttled away at their entrance.

Behind a large, elaborately decorated screen, the servants had left a large bowl of steaming water, and Oscar crossed the room wordlessly to slip behind the screen. Dorian heard the rustling of his clothing, Oscar’s breath catching as he struggled.

“Need a - “ He stopped himself just in time, and silently chided himself for what he had almost said. “Need any help?”

"No, thanks,” said Oscar, his voice sounding muffled. Silence fell.

“Actually,” came Oscar’s small voice. “I could use some help.”

Dorian hurried behind the screen. Oscar had managed to get his shirt off, and was now sitting on a low stool regarding his thigh-length boots with tired resignation.

“They’ve defeated me,” he said with a half-hearted chuckle. Dorian helped him tug them off, before gesturing for him to stand. He helped Oscar out of his trousers, leaving him in just his smallclothes. Oscar turned to the bowl of rapidly cooling water.

“Thank you,” said Oscar, before splashing water on his face.

With a small sigh, Dorian began removing his own clothes, weariness creeping up on him. When had they last slept? It felt like days ago. Perhaps it had been.

Oscar headed out from behind the screen without a word, towelling his face dry with one hand.

A looking glass had been placed next to the bowl of water, and Dorian regarded his unkempt hair and bloodshot eyes with distaste before plunging his hands into the water.

 _I’ll deal with it tomorrow_ , he thought, trailing his fingers through the water to reheat it slightly before splashing it over his face.

When he had dried himself and peeked out from behind the screen, Oscar was sitting very still on the edge of the bed, looking utterly exhausted. As Dorian pottered about the room, Oscar found the energy to crawl under the covers, and stretched luxuriously, letting out a low moan as his aching joints cracked in response.

After everything that had happened, and despite the lack of a proper bath, it was sheer bliss to finally crawl in beside Oscar, Dorian mused as he pulled the covers over them both.

 _"Amatus_ ,” he said quietly, brushing a lock of Oscar’s thick, chestnut hair from his forehead. “Are you –“

But Oscar was already asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Broken in the Light_ is a lyric from the song _The Fall of the Magister_ , from the Dragon Age: Inquisition Trespasser DLC.


	2. Ad Meliora

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Ad meliora - towards better things_

Over the next few days, the Council scrambled to implement the Inquisitor’s decision, and messenger birds were dispatched across Thedas to spread the news of the Inquisition’s fate. The grounds seemed constantly filled with the chattering of nobles, servants and palace staff as everyone prepared themselves to leave.

The former Inquisitor, however, was spending a great deal of his time in bed, as though the events of the last week had caught up with him all at once. When he did rise, it was for short periods of time, to freshen up and pick at the food the servants brought, his now ever-present silken sling always in place.

The Court healer, who had been sent to check on him in the aftermath of losing his arm, had suggested Oscar wear the sling until he became more accustomed to his loss, and Oscar had readily agreed. The draped fabric, held in place by one of Dorian’s ornate clasps, covered as much as it protected - Dorian had noticed that Oscar didn’t really like looking at his arm if he could avoid it, and suspected the sling was simply to cover it up.

Despite the fact they spent their nights together, Dorian hadn't had a chance to speak with Oscar properly for several days after their return from the Darvaarad and the fateful Council meeting. Oscar was sleeping a great deal, which was hardly surprising given everything that had happened, but was nonetheless concerning for a man who was usually so energetic. He ate little, in stark contrast to his usual enormous appetite, and Dorian worried about him.

He took the time to write a few important letters home, and start making discreet enquiries about a matter that had popped into his head over the last few days. He checked in on Oscar throughout the day, and if he found him awake would sit with him in the bed for a time, though his _amatus_ spoke little except to ask questions about the current happenings at the palace. Then he would doze off again, often leaning his head against Dorian’s shoulder.

With the immediate crisis passed, they finally had a chance to catch their breath. Leaving Oscar sleeping one morning, Dorian headed outside for some fresh air. He had barely had a moment to reflect on the extraordinary happenings of the last few days, and gazed somewhat vacantly over the perfectly manicured gardens, his chin propped in one hand.

This was how Cassandra found him some time later. She had to call his name several times before he heard her.

“Sorry, I was miles away,” he said, straightening. “Something the matter?”

“I was wondering how the Inqui – how Oscar is doing,” she enquired. Oscar no longer being Inquisitor would take some getting used to, for all of them.

“Varric just gave me this,” she continued, holding up a slim book. “He thought the – Oscar might enjoy it.”

“He’s doing better,” said Dorian. “He’s still sleeping a lot – trying to avoid doing any work, if you ask me.”

Cassandra smiled politely at his attempt at humour.

“I would like to check in on him, if it’s all right,” she said.

“Certainly,” said Dorian. “Just don’t wake him.”

“Of course not,” she said, and with a nod, headed to Oscar’s room.

Dorian remained for a while longer, letting the hubbub of activity wash over him. For the last few days he had felt like he wanted to sleep for a week, but as soon as he put his head down his mind seemed to be full to bursting, and he ended up pacing distractedly in front of Oscar’s fireplace, or flicking through a book, glancing sightlessly at the text.

Cassandra had been gone a while, which might mean Oscar was awake. They had had no chance to talk properly for quite some time, and Dorian found he missed their conversations.

He pushed himself away from the railing, wincing as his lower back protested the movement. Their fights against the Qunari had been long and arduous, and he had been a little out of practice, having not had the occasion to fight while in Tevinter, and then weeks of – thankfully – uneventful travelling.

Oscar was indeed awake when Dorian returned to his room, sitting up against his pile of pillows. He smiled as Dorian came in.

“Hello, love,” he said.

“Awake again, I see,” said Dorian, perching on the bed beside him.

“Just about,” said Oscar, rubbing an eye with the heel of his hand.

“I was just telling the Inq – Oscar – about Varric’s book,” said Cassandra. “He wanted it to be a surprise.” She placed the book on the covers next to Oscar with a small flourish.

“That was kind of him,” said Oscar, but made no movement to lift the book. Seeing his fatigue, Cassandra’s expression softened.

“Perhaps I could read a little to you?” she said.

“You don’t have to do that,” said Oscar, smiling tiredly. “You can tell Varric I promise to take a look at it soon.”

“It is no trouble,” said Cassandra, her fingers picking at the cover. Oscar could see how badly she wanted to delve into the new book.

“Alright,” he said with a chuckle. “Perhaps a little.”

Cassandra beamed, and opened the book to the first page. She cleared her throat.

“ _All This Shit Is Weird_ ,” she began, a frown appearing between her brows.

Some time later, Oscar found himself wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. Cassandra’s excitement over Varric’s latest “masterpiece” was infectious – but the best parts were her impressions of their friends.

Oscar had smiled as she had begun, realising what he was listening to, but by the time she had gotten to her impression of Thom he was leaning into Dorian’s side, the two of them laughing uncontrollably. Dorian’s expression of offense at the section about himself set Oscar off again.

By the time she reached the section about herself they were all in hysterics. Cassandra looked up at him from the book, her smile fond.

“It is good to see you smiling again, my friend,” she said.

“It’s good to _be_ smiling,” said Oscar, wiping his eyes. “Thank you, Cassandra. I needed that.” He chuckled again, shaking his head slightly. He’d have to remember to thank Varric.

“Do not thank me yet. There are still seventeen more chapters.”

“Maker’s breath. Where does he find the time as Viscount?”

“I believe he delegates quite extensively.”

“Ah, so _that’s_ his secret,” said Oscar. “A shame I never thought of that.”

“I shall leave you to rest,” said Cassandra, leaving the book on his nightstand. “Perhaps we could continue tomorrow?”

“I’d like that very much,” said Oscar.

Cassandra left, wishing them both goodnight, and Dorian rested his cheek against Oscar’s hair, his eyes drifting shut.

“Are you asleep?” came Oscar’s soft voice.

“Yes,” said Dorian. Oscar chuckled.

“Perhaps you’d like to continue sleeping in a more comfortable position?”

Dorian considered the awkward position he was currently sitting in, and the sharp angle of his neck.

“You may be right,” he said. “A moment.” He swung himself off the bed and crossed the room to prepare for sleep, and Oscar immediately missed the warmth of him pressed against his side.

_Better get used to it_ , he thought, before he could help himself. He shifted lower in the bed, stretching out, watching Dorian move around the room though half-open eyes. He had almost fallen asleep when he felt the covers move.

"Need anything?” said Dorian, standing beside the bed.

“Just you,” murmured Oscar sleepily.

“Flatterer,” said Dorian, extinguishing the candles in the room with a flick of his hand, before climbing into bed. It was a somewhat awkward affair, currently, the two of them attempting to accommodate Oscar’s arm, currently hidden in the sleeve of the voluminous shirt he’d taken to wearing to bed. It still wasn’t causing him any particular pain, but Oscar still found the sensation of lying on it upsetting.

Dorian was on the other side, though, and was able to curl into his side, Oscar’s good arm snaking around his shoulders. 

“Are you alright?” Oscar asked after a moment.

“Am _I_ alright?” asked Dorian in disbelief. “ _I’m_ not the one who’s faced impending death, world-shaking truths, the loss of a limb _and_ Orlesian politics on the same day.” He paused. “Well, actually, I suppose I did. Except for the limb.”

Oscar’s laugh ruffled Dorian’s hair. “Exactly,” he said. “And everything else that’s happened to you since you got here. Everyone’s been fussing over me - how are _you_ holding up?”

Dorian thought for a moment.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly.

“Good answer,” said Oscar. “Same here.”

“We’ll figure it out,” said Dorian, almost believing it.

“We usually do,” agreed Oscar, with a yawn.

They awoke late the next day to a servant delivering a platter of food. The servant – in Orlesian rather than Inquisition colours – blushed crimson as the two of them sat up in bed, regarding the spread. He scuttled out extremely quickly when Oscar dismissed him.

“ _Orlesians_ ,” said Dorian derisively, stretching. “Honestly, you’d think they’d never seen a magister and an ex-Inquisitor in bed together before.”

Oscar snorted, rolling his left shoulder. Every morning since they had returned from the Darvaarad had brought anew the terrible realisation of his loss. For a moment, when he awoke, he wouldn’t remember, before reality reasserted itself. He wondered if every morning would feel like this from now on.

They picked at the food. Oscar didn’t seem to be able to stop himself for reaching for things with his left arm, the action so intrinsic he couldn’t help it. Each tiny realisation brought a flicker of pain and frustration across his face, and Dorian’s heart ached to see it. Fortunately, in true Orlesian style, everything on the platter was small and neatly cut – tiny pastries, finely sliced fruits, cubes of cheese.

Once they had eaten, they went their separate ways for a while. Oscar spent some time checking in with the members of his Inner Circle, but spent most of his time walking the palace grounds, pale and quiet. Everyone assumed he was adjusting to the loss of his arm, and gave him space to think.

Dorian, who knew him best, was far more concerned. Oscar had been through many traumatic experiences before, and his usual way of coping was to forge on ahead to the next challenge, keeping himself occupied. His current listlessness and despondence were entirely unlike him, and it worried Dorian greatly.

Oscar was still sleeping late, though this was hardly unusual. He was not a morning person at all, and only rose early when it was necessary. He was still in bed one morning while Dorian sipped at a cup of tea out on one of the palace's many balconies.

"Lady Montilyet! Your reply from Lord Trevelyan, my lady."

The shout from one of Charter’s agents crossing the courtyard made Dorian clatter his cup in its saucer. He turned to see Josephine appear from the interior of the palace, and accept the newly-arrived letter from the messenger. She opened it on the spot, and scanned its contents, before glancing up and spotting him. She hurried over.

"My Lord!" she said. "Do you happen to know where Lord Trevelyan might be?”

“I believe he was speaking with Cassandra,” said Dorian. He indicated the letter in Josephine’s hand. “Something so important it needs to be put in writing, even though you’re in the same building?”

Josephine glanced down at the letter, confused.

“Oh,” she said, her expression clearing. “This is not from Lord Oscar. It is from his brother.”

“His brother?”

"Indeed. I wrote to his family after the … incident, with his arm. I thought they would like to know."

"And did you let Oscar know you were sending this letter?"

"I had not had a chance yet," she said. "But I thought he would be pleased to hear from them at such a time. I was not expecting Lord Maxwell to reply so quickly, though." She glanced back down at the letter. “He wishes to visit, in fact.”

"Oh, really? All of a sudden?" said Dorian acidly.

"It would hardly be out of the ordinary for him to visit his brother after such a thing has befallen him," said Josephine, frowning slightly.

"Ordinarily I would agree," said Dorian. "If we weren't talking about the same man who has only contacted Oscar … twice, I believe, since the Conclave. Where their sister died."

"I cannot speak as to their relationship in the past, though the Inq - Lord Oscar has always spoken well of them."

"Of course he has," said Dorian, shaking his head. "It wouldn't be in his nature to badmouth them. They didn't want anything to do with him when the Chantry declared him a heretic - yet the moment he defeated Corypheus, and it became public knowledge that he was close to the next Divine, suddenly they were sending well-wishes and flowers."

"Lord Maxwell is willing to come out to Orlais," said Josephine placatingly. "He would not do so if he did not care for his brother. They will make sure he receives excellent care back home in Ostwick."

"What?" said Dorian, taken aback. "Ostwick?"

"Yes," said Josephine. "I thought that with the Inquisition disbanding and everyone going their separate ways, Lord Oscar would need a place to convalesce. What better place than with his family?"

"What better place?" hissed Dorian. "What about with me?"

Josephine looked nonplussed.

"I - you had said you were leaving as soon as the Council's business was concluded," she said in confusion. Dorian's eyes narrowed.

"You think after everything that's happened since I got here that I would just up and leave? 'Sorry about the arm, old thing - oh well, these things happen, must be off'? Do you think so little of me, that you think I would just walk away _now_?"

“I apologise if I have offended,” said Josephine, her tone a little tight. “But I was simply going on what you have been saying since you arrived. I had no idea you were changing your plans. Nor, as I understand it, does Lord Oscar.”

“No plans _have_ been made yet. Everything’s been madness since we arrived.”

“I am well aware,” said Josephine with a sigh.

“Look,” said Dorian. “Just – tell the man to stay put for the time being. There’s no need for him to make what might well be a wasted journey. Let me talk to Oscar, see what he wants to do. If – “ He paused. “If he wants to return to Ostwick, we’ll make the arrangements.”

“Very well,” said Josephine. “Though I really think it would be for the best.”

“Noted,” said Dorian. “Excuse me.”

Without waiting for a reply, he dropped his teacup onto a nearby end table with a clatter and stormed off to find Oscar.

He eventually found him on the upper level of the courtyard, leaning against the railing. Below him, a group of Inquisition soldiers were playing with Cullen’s mabari hound, throwing sticks for him to chase while Cullen was occupied with Council business. Oscar watched them, a small smile on his face.

“So here you are,” said Dorian, coming up beside him.

“Here I am,” said Oscar, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Everything alright?”

“For now,” said Dorian. He paused, watching the games below. “Josephine has received a letter from your brother.”

“Max?” said Oscar in surprise, turning to face him. “What in the world does he want?”

“Josephine wrote to your family,” said Dorian. “To let them know about what had happened here.”

“I see,” said Oscar, annoyance creeping into his tone.

“She was trying to help, of course,” said Dorian. “Though I confess, I may have been a little short with her when she mentioned it."

"Dorian -"

"Don’t worry, I'll apologise profusely later on," said Dorian, waving a hand. "But it seems they’d be happy for you to return to the nest, as it were, if that’s what you want to do.”

“Return to the nest? What – they want me to go back to Ostwick?”

“Since you didn't know about it either, it obviously wasn't your idea."

"No, it wasn't."

"Is it what you want? To go home?"

Oscar looked out over the grounds again.

"I … suppose it's a good option," he said grudgingly. "Things are going to be difficult for a while. There are - things I'll have to relearn."

"But is it what you _want_?"

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it does. If it is, then I'll come with you for a while. If not - perhaps we could make other plans."

"We?" Oscar's brow furrowed even further. "I thought you needed to go back to Tevinter. As soon as the Council was done, you said."

"I do," he said. "And I shall. Just - not right away."

"No?"

Dorian looked away from Oscar's confused gaze.

"My little trip to the South hasn't exactly gone as I expected," he said. "I thought it would be a good excuse to get to see you, watch in amusement while Josephine wrangled the council with her usual skill, and spend our evenings drinking excellent wine and trying out every bed in the guest wing." He sighed. "But all of this? After everything that's happened, I can't just leave now."

Oscar's expression had softened.

"You don't have to change your plans on my account," he said.

"Certainly I do," said Dorian. "The Imperium is many thousands of years old. I daresay it can do without me a little while longer." He turned, and took Oscar's hand in his. "And besides, if memory serves, I believe you promised me a trip somewhere nice."

Oscar's face broke into the first true smile Dorian had seen from him since they had reunited in the palace gardens. Had that really only been a few days ago?

"Don’t you have things you need to attend to, though, in Tevinter?" he said.

"Yes and no,” said Dorian. "Not immediately, at any rate. I wrote to Mae a few days ago, letting her know I'd be delayed in returning. I _had_ intended to bring up the topic with you later on today, but Josephine and your brother rather stole my thunder."

Oscar smiled apologetically as Dorian continued.

“Before I begin life as a _politician_ ,” his nose wrinkled at the word. “I think I deserve a little time to relax. And you certainly do.” He brushed the back of his fingers down the side of Oscar’s face, his touch feather-light. “We need to get some colour back into your cheeks.”

“That does sound marvellous,” said Oscar. “I’m not sure I’ll be terribly amusing company for a while, mind you.” He shrugged the shoulder of his wounded arm and Dorian glanced down at the sling.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll be gentle with you.”

Oscar chuckled warmly, and Dorian leaned in for a kiss when suddenly there was a crash behind them, as a side table clattered to the ground, taking a platter of fruit with it.

Oscar and Dorian turned as one to see Sera scramble to her feet from where she had been crouched behind the table, fruit rolling in all directions.

“Yes?” said Dorian in amusement.

“Servants have been talking about you,” she said, pointing at Oscar, her face a mask of anger. “I heard about your letter. Josie said you were leaving.”

“I’m not,” said Oscar, and Sera’s face relaxed. “At least, not right away.” He smiled at her.

“I wouldn’t just leave without telling you,” he said. “We have plans to make, after all.”

“Yeah, too right,” she said. “So don’t go running off. I get it. Wanting to sneak out, now it’s done. And we’d find you and all … but it’d be a huge pain in the arse. And the last thing we need, is more pains in the arse.”

“I’d miss you too,” said Oscar, grinning.

“What? No, shut up,” she said, reddening. “I just want to get back to it without having to – oh, piss off,” she said, and ran back down the stairs.

“Do I want to know what plans these are?” said Dorian, as Oscar shook his head fondly.

“Oh,” he said. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you what with everything that’s been going on. I’ve been made the newest Friend of Red Jenny.”

Dorian looked at him for a long moment.

“You’re not joking, are you,” he finally said. “Sweet Maker. Are you sure this is wise?”

“Not at all,” said Oscar with a smile. “I’m rather looking forward to it. You’re not the only one who can stick it to the establishment, you know.”

“’Stick it to the establishment’? You really have been spending too much time around that girl.”

“Or around you.”

“Impossible.”

This time, their kiss was blissfully uninterrupted.

 

 

*          *          *

 

 

A few days after his brother’s letter had arrived, Oscar was strolling through the palace grounds. Outwardly, very little had changed since their arrival the week before – the weather had even improved, a light breeze bringing scents of freshly mown grass and sweet-smelling flowers from the surrounding countryside. The sound of Maryden’s lute floated across the courtyard, and despite everything, Oscar felt his spirits lift slightly.

He had written to Max to thank him for his invitation, and to decline his offer. He would return to Ostwick one day, he was sure, but for the moment he had other things to attend to.

The other thing contributing to his improved mood was the decision he had come to over the last few days.  Finally free of his responsibilities as Inquisitor, and having come so close to what he had expected to be certain death, Oscar was now more determined than ever to finally take this next step.

He had recalled an unexpected – and bizarre, at the time – conversation with Cassandra, not long after he had arrived at the Winter Palace. Despite her embarrassment, she had brought up something that had been taking up more and more space in Oscar’s mind for some time now.

_Marriage_.

Every time he thought about it his stomach twisted into knots. He knew what _he_ wanted, but what about Dorian? He had been adamantly against marriage back in Tevinter, but was it because it would have been a sham, or was it the idea in general? Would it be different now because they loved one another? Would it push Dorian away? Would he consider it a foolish idea now he was leaving? As a Magister, would publicly marrying a Southerner be a nail in the coffin of his career even before it had begun?

Oscar knew Dorian better than he knew anyone else in the world, and yet these uncertainties, and more, kept floating through his mind. He had planned to finally sit Dorian down, once they were together again, and bring up the topic; but as usual, almost as soon as they’d been reunited everything had been thrown into chaos and he’d never had the chance.

There was some semblance of peace, now, and he had his chance – but after everything that had happened, was it still the right thing to do?

That morning, he had awoken, and after Dorian had helped him struggle into his clothes and they had sat down to breakfast, he decided. Today was the day. After Dorian had left to reply to some urgent letters and speak with some of the others, Oscar paced up and down, steeling himself, trying to think of the right words to say.

Would Dorian prefer an elaborate, flowery proposal, or something simple and from the heart? Should he arrange fireworks? No, that was too much. Should he get down on one knee? Was that even done in Tevinter? Perhaps he should wait, and do some proper research into Tevinter proposal customs …

Eventually he had combed his hair, taken a deep breath and gone off to find Dorian, a determined glint in his eye.

Dorian, of course, was nowhere to be found; seemingly even more elusive than the harlequins Oscar had collared sneaking around the grounds during the Exalted Council. Everyone he spoke to had either ‘just seen him’ or ‘saw him a while ago’ but didn’t know where he was now.

Oscar had done about a dozen laps of the grounds before he gave up and sagged against a pillar. The nobles following his every move and tutting with sympathy as he passed hadn’t helped, and now his zeal from earlier was feeling considerably dimmed.

“Ah, there you are,” came the voice of the man in question from behind him, and Oscar jumped. “Care for some lunch?”

Oscar stared at him, wide-eyed.

“Are you alright?” said Dorian, a look of confusion appearing on his face.

“No,” said Oscar. “Yes!” he said as Dorian stepped forward in concern. “I mean – do you have a moment?”

“For you, always,” said Dorian. “What’s on your mind?”

_It’s now or never_ , thought Oscar to himself. Glancing around, he could see crowds of nobles craning their necks to get a better look at them. The story of the _liaison_ between the Inquisitor and the Tevinter ambassador had been a hot topic since they’d arrived – it had hardly helped that Dorian had kissed him feet away from Lord Cyril and his underlings, and then again in front of a group of nobles and Chantry clerics.

“Er,” he said. “Right. Yes. Come with me.”

He led a clearly confused Dorian away from the open stairs and down towards the tavern. As they passed, approaching the balcony, he hoped that the usual congregation of nobles down by the statue of Andraste had made themselves scarce. It was a beautiful spot, and – provided the nobles were absent – would be the perfect place to ask.

Fortunately, the area was empty, and Oscar led Dorian over to the wall, overlooking the verdant Orlesian countryside. He looked out at the view, his heart beating a mile a minute.

_Breathe_ , he reminded himself.

Dorian was expectantly quiet beside him. Oscar turned to face him.

“I was –“ his voice came out in a strangled squeak and he cleared his throat.

“I was thinking,” he started again. “About this trip we’re going to take.”

“Oh yes,” said Dorian. “I’ve been making a list of ideas. But I take it you have something in mind?”

“Sort of,” said Oscar, rubbing his neck.

“I’m not going to like this, am I?” said Dorian. “Let me guess – it’s something horribly dangerous or revolting. Or both. Dragon hunting, or wading through bogs.”

“Maker, no,” said Oscar.

“Thank heavens. I was picturing warmth, wine, your good self and a lounger in the sun.”

“That sounds perfect,” said Oscar, almost able to imagine it already.

“I’m glad you approve.”

“So … how would you feel if it was … what would you think about – about it being a honeymoon?”

The last few words came out in a rush, and he held his breath as realisation dawned on Dorian’s face.

“A honeymoon?” he said incredulously. “For us?”

“Yes, for us,” said Oscar with a laugh. Stepping forward, he took Dorian’s hand in his own. For all his overthinking and worrying, when it came down to it, it was really very simple.

“Dorian Pavus,” he said, watching his lover’s eyes widen in realisation. “Will you marry me?”

Dorian seemed to have turned into one of the statues he so frequently wished would be erected of him. His wide-eyed expression of shock was utterly still, his eyes fixed on Oscar’s as through waiting for the other man to say he was joking.

“Why?” he said eventually, not releasing Oscar’s hand. Oscar laughed.

“Why?” he repeated. “Because I love you.”

“And I know that,” said Dorian. “So why … wait,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “Is this because I’m going away?” He squeezed Oscar’s fingers a little tighter, shaking his head.

“ _Amatus_. You don’t have to make this gesture just because we’ll be apart. I am yours, and a few miles between us will never change that.”

“That’s not why I’m asking. I’ve been thinking about it for quite some time, actually. Since before you left for Tevinter.”

“You have?”

“I have. I suppose with everything that happened here, and the fact that you’re leaving soon … well, it finally seemed the right time.”

Dorian looked away from him. Oscar could practically see the gears turning in his head.

“Marriage,” he said eventually.

“Marriage,” repeated Oscar.

“You and I.”

“Yes.”

“What a ludicrous idea.” A smile spread across his face like a sunrise.

“Let’s do it.”

Oscar blinked several times, unsure if he had heard correctly.

“Wait, what? Really?” he blurted, and Dorian’s grin widened.

“Really,” he said, and shrugged. “We’ve done enough absurd and impossible things this week already, what’s one more?”

Oscar, his eyes filling with tears, surged forward and lifted Dorian slightly off the ground with the strength of his one-armed hug. He laughed delightedly into the layers of Dorian’s collar.

“Put me down, you big oaf,” said Dorian, his own voice tremulous, arms wrapped around Oscar’s neck as his feet touched the ground again. They gazed at one another, unbelieving and giddy, the rest of the world ceasing to exist as Dorian cradled Oscar’s face in his hands before leaning in for a kiss.

“I suppose I should ask,” said Oscar, once they parted. “Will this cause problems for you back home? Reflect badly on your efforts in the Magisterium?”

Dorian huffed out a laugh. “I think _that_ damage has already been done.”

“I thought that might be why you didn’t want me to go back with you,” said Oscar quietly. Dorian’s face fell.

“Of course not, _amatus_ ,” he said. “I am not, nor have I ever been, ashamed of you, or of us.” At Oscar’s questioning look, he continued.

"What I must do when I return is going to make me very unpopular – more so than now, if you can believe such a thing. I’ve no doubt the same people who killed my father will come after me next. I won’t drag you into that.”

A protest jumped to Oscar’s lips but before he could voice it, he remembered his current situation.

“I was about to say I could look after myself,” he said wryly, before shrugging his abused shoulder. “But I suppose that’s not true, now.” Dorian’s answering smile was sympathetic.

“I’m sure you’d still be able to best your average assailant,” he said. “Or at least, you’ll be able to soon enough. But a country full of blood-magic wielding magisters and the finest assassins in Thedas?” He shook his head.

“You are one of the most formidable warriors I have ever known, _amatus_. But against all of that … I might as well paint the target on your back myself. I would never forgive myself if anything were to happen, knowing you’d come because of me. That’s why I must find these people, and kill them. Not that my enemies won’t be endless, I’m sure … but this is an immediate threat, and one I can deal with.”

“And after that?” asked Oscar, barely daring to hope.

“Who knows,” said Dorian, a slow smile spreading. “Anything’s possible.”

Oscar leaned in to kiss him again and Dorian smiled against his lips.

_Marriage_ , he thought to himself. _How completely ridiculous_.

_And how wonderful._


	3. Ecce Cor Meum

_**ecce cor meum (behold my heart)** _

 

Whatever the now-former Inquisition had been expecting to deal with in the aftermath of the Exalted Council, it certainly hadn’t been wedding preparations. Oscar and Dorian had not had a chance to make an official announcement – they had told a few people and then, suddenly, everyone knew. While there were a few slightly bewildered faces, most people seemed genuinely happy for them, and sought them out to congratulate them. Oscar’s shoulder still ached from Bull’s – and then Krem’s – enthusiastic handshake.

Cassandra had been the first person they’d told, her eyes widening as she realised what Oscar was telling her. She had actually hugged him, her eyes suspiciously shiny, and shook Dorian’s hand.

They ended up in the tavern, hosting an impromptu gathering, as word spread. Throughout the evening, more and more people stopped by to wish them well, and bought them endless drinks, an arrangement Dorian was more than happy with. When the drinking songs started, Dorian led a tipsy Oscar out of the back door and back to their suite.

Anything Dorian might have had planned went out of the window as soon as they arrived back. The moment Oscar walked into the room he dropped face-down onto the bed, and soon enough his sleepy breaths filled the room.

Although a little disappointed, Dorian couldn’t help but smile. _What a day_. And it was all down to this man. His _amatus_ had decided to ask him to take this step with him, even after his own devastating losses and Dorian’s impending departure.

Dorian would be lying to himself if he said he had never imagined what it might be like to marry Oscar; he had just thought it such an impossible notion that he had quickly put it out of his mind. The Inquisitor could never marry someone from Tevinter, he had thought. And any thoughts of the future he had quickly pushed aside, the threat of Corypheus and his forces too real and immediate to make any long-term plans.

In the intervening years … it had flitted across his mind, now and then, but never in any serious way. Being able to say ‘my husband’ about anyone was the sort of juvenile fantasy he’d left behind in adolescence - though as the years passed, and their love continued to grow and strengthen, he had wondered. Could it be possible?

Evidently it was.

With a feigned put-upon sigh, he tugged off Oscar’s boots and threw them aside, before tugging the blankets out from under the dead weight of his lover. Oscar groaned, and shifted.

“Sorry,” said Dorian, not sounding at all sorry. “But get into bed. You’ll get cold.”

Oscar nodded and moved to sit up, forgetting entirely about his missing arm and overbalancing, sliding inelegantly off the edge of the bed.

“Are you alright?” said Dorian, moving quickly to his side. Oscar pulled himself up with a groan.

“Fine,” he said sleepily, raising his half-arm. “I ... forgot.” He glanced down at his clothing.

“Think you could give me a hand?” he said with a wink.

Dorian rolled his eyes, and started working on the buckles of Oscar’s vest.

“Is this what I’m going to have to put up with in our marriage? _Puns_?” he said.

Oscar smiled. “You’ve been putting up with them for a number of years, love. You knew what you were signing on for when you said yes.”

“True,” said Dorian. “Though we’re going to have to work on your material. That had definite influences of Sera.”

Oscar yawned. “Give her some credit,” he said. “She hasn’t made a single hand joke yet.”

“She’s probably making a list,” said Dorian, pulling off Oscar’s vest and undershirt.

Oscar didn’t reply, letting out a soft laugh and leaning forward to rest his forehead on Dorian’s shoulder.

“Come on,” said Dorian, pushing gently on his chest. “Into bed.”

Oscar didn’t protest, scrambling under the covers, still in his trousers. By the time Dorian joined him, some minutes later, he was fast asleep.

They emerged the next day to find the Palace a hive of activity, Josephine already in full swing making preparations (…"if you have no objections, my Lords!"). Oscar and Dorian were perfectly pleased to let her work. She seemed delighted to have a happy event to focus on after the immense strain of the Council, and Dorian - who had apologised in the meantime - still felt rather guilty over snapping at her about contacting the Trevelyans.

None of Oscar's family would be able to travel to Halamshiral in time, so they only needed to concern themselves with their friends who were present. They couldn't keep everyone at the palace indefinitely - not just because their friends had places to be, but also because the hospitality of the Orlesians - now the council's business was concluded - would only stretch so far.

There was no time to have wedding rings crafted from scratch, but Oscar had remembered a pair of gold rings they'd found years ago while excavating Coracavus that he'd slung into storage, and had dashed off a quick letter to Dagna, back in Skyhold, to dig them out and send them on, as quickly as she could.

Josephine was taking care of the arrangements for food, music, drinks and, most importantly, clearing out the nobles for the evening by planning a _second_ party in the palace's ballroom. Guards posted around the entrance would discreetly ensure that none of the attending nobles accidentally wandered into the wedding celebrations outside.

Oscar simply needed to find something to wear, now, though there was nothing simple about it. His suggestion to Vivienne that he simply wear his Inquisition formal jacket had been met with an arched, perfectly manicured eyebrow, before she had wordlessly swept off to write an urgent letter to her tailor in Val Royeaux. As to what Dorian was planning to wear, he had no idea, loath as he was to interrupt the seemingly intense discussion occurring between him, Josephine and Vivienne.

 

*          *          *

 

The day of the ceremony itself finally arrived, the sky a clear blue. Oscar was alone in his suite, as Dorian had disappeared after breakfast to prepare, so the only company he had right now were his nerves.

Not that he was nervous about actually getting married - it was more the alarming knack of many things in his life to go sideways at the last minute that was making his heart beat a little too fast. It was bad enough that the rings he'd written to Skyhold for had not yet arrived. They could still go ahead with the ceremony, and don the rings later, but still - it felt like an ill omen, somehow.

He just wanted this day to go off without some sort of catastrophe - which he didn't think was too much to ask.

A knock at the door made him start, and at his reply two servants entered. One carried a large box, tied with an elaborate bow, the other a small package tied in brown paper. The box was placed on the bed, while the letter was handed to Oscar.

Bowing, they exited, and left him to tear at the small package. It was difficult to tear into with only one hand, but soon he was spilling the contents out onto his dressing table - a small, highly polished wooden box, and a note. He shook open the note, and almost wept with relief.

 

>   _Hi!_
> 
> _You didn't tell me what these were for, but Sera's letter arrived just after yours did._
> 
> _CONGRATULATIONS!!!_

 

'Congratulations' was underlined four times, Oscar noted. He read on.

 

> _Found the rings you mentioned and shinied them up a bit. Put a little extra something in there for you as well! You'll find out._
> 
> _Enjoy your special day!_
> 
> _Dagna_

 

Oscar flicked open the catch on the little box and looked at the golden rings inside, nestled on soft velvet. Dagna had indeed 'shinied them up' - when they'd originally found them they'd been caked in dust and dirt from years of neglect - but he could still see the beauty of them even then, and thought it was a shame to leave them behind in that place.

They were Tevinter-made, each the shape of a twisting, golden snake eating its own tail. A simple design, but the detail was exquisite; the finely etched scales gleamed, the tiny ruby eyes glinted.

Dorian knew nothing about them yet, and Oscar hoped they would be to his liking; he was notoriously picky about his tastes, but hopefully the fact they were from his homeland - and the implicit meaning behind them - would mean he would like them.

He closed the box again and walked over to the bed, tugging at the ridiculous ribbon on the top of the box. This must be his outfit, then. Vivienne had asked his opinion on colour, and he’d decided on blue, for the somewhat sentimental reason that Dorian had commented how handsome he had looked in his blue Inquisition formal coat.

He pulled off the lid of the box with a strange frisson of excitement, and pulled out the garments - a fitted coat in deep blue with ornate gilded embroidery that fell to mid-thigh, and a flowing, silvery undershirt. Underneath it, in the box, were simple trousers and long, supple leather boots.

Vivienne's tailor had chosen well. He managed to work his way into the trousers, boots and undershirt, though wasn't entirely sure how he would button the collar or cuffs. He was just about to summon a servant when there was another knock at the door. Answering it, he found Cassandra waiting outside, unable to keep the smile from her face.

"I wondered how you were getting on," she said.

"On this momentous day?" he teased.

"Well, quite," she said, going slightly pink. Oscar invited her in.

"I'm fine," he said, once she was inside. "Though, if you have a moment, I could use some help with all of these buttons and laces."

"Oh!" she said. "Of course."

She worked at the buttons.

"Are you nervous?" she asked.

"Not really," said Oscar. "I'm looking forward to it. Actually, I've been meaning to thank you."

"Thank _me_?"

"Yes. That little talk we had … I thought about it, after everything that happened. It made me realise that if I kept waiting for the 'perfect time', it would never come. There's no such thing."

"Oh," said Cassandra in some surprise. "Well, I'm glad at least _someone_ listens to my advice."

Oscar smiled.

"There," said Cassandra. "All done." She stepped back, her expression fond.

Oscar grabbed the deep blue coat from the bed and manoeveured into it, before glancing at himself in the looking glass. It was a fine outfit - but beyond that he took a moment to look at himself, at the happiness in his own expression. It had been a long and difficult journey to reach this point, and he hoped that for today at least, they might be able to put thoughts of the hard road ahead of them aside, and focus on their joy.

Vivienne had instructed her tailor to sew up the left sleeves of the shirt and coat, which he had done with a neat row of tiny buttons. Under the whole ensemble, the locket Dorian had given him, containing a magical crystal, rested against his heart.

"You look very handsome," said Cassandra happily.

"Thank you," said Oscar, blushing slightly. "Have you seen Dorian?"

"I have not," she said. "Let me guess - he's wearing something ridiculously over-the-top from Tevinter?"

"I don't actually know," said Oscar. "I haven't seen him either."

"Something to look forward to, then," she said wryly. "Are you ready?"

"It's time already?"

"It is. In fact, you are probably a little late." As she spoke, Oscar heard bells pealing across the palace.

He took one last glance at his reflection and ran his hand through his hair, before following Cassandra to the door. He was almost out of the room before he remembered the small polished box on his dresser, and raced back in.

"Wouldn't get very far without these," he said to Cassandra as he closed the door behind them, holding up the box. Her mouth formed an o.

"May I see?" she said, and Oscar placed the box into her palm. She opened it, and smiled at the contents.

"Fine indeed," she said. "They _are_ very Dorian."

"That was rather the point," said Oscar with a smile, pocketing the box.

He took a deep breath, and followed Cassandra to the courtyard.

 

*          *          *

 

The sun was low in the sky, and gilded lanterns glowed around the palace grounds. Tiny, glowing lights conjured by the Court mages added to the effect, and colourful banners, hastily erected by servants, billowed in the light breeze.

It was a gorgeous setting, and Dorian might have been able to appreciate it more if his heart hadn't been trying to beat out of his chest.

He was not nervous, exactly, more somewhat - anticipatory, given the events of the last few days. He was keen to get it over with, if only to reassure himself that it would happen at all.

Oscar was running late, but not so much so that Dorian needed to worry. He worried anyway, tugging at the fine fabric gathered at his waist for the fifth or sixth time.

"Relax, Sparkler," said Varric, coming up beside him. "Enjoy yourself. This is all in your honour, after all," he said, waving a hand around at the decorations. "I'd have thought that'd be right up your alley."

"It's very good of them," said Dorian. "But it's hardly for _me_."

"It's your wedding too."

"Yes, well."

The phrase still sounded surreal to Dorian’s ears. _Your wedding._ He’d spent most of his life avoiding his marital duties, the very idea of it evoking feelings of despair and anger. He had always imagined a future trapped in a loveless marriage with a wife who hated him – or at best, tolerated him – his true self hidden away forever.

He had certainly never imagined that he would be able to stand up proudly on his wedding day, preparing to marry the man he loved in front of their friends, feeling only joy and excitement.

Well, that and a mounting sense of impatience. Where in the blazes was Oscar?

Despite the abundance of colourful lights and banners, in addition to the gilded statues everywhere, this was a great deal less elaborate than a Tevinter wedding would be. He’d attended a few, although he only vaguely remembered the end of the festivities. There had been little time to prepare for this ceremony, though he had had time to have something to wear rushed from Val Royeaux.

_Blue, darling_ , Vivienne had insisted, so now he stood waiting dressed in draped, deep blue fabric, held in place at his shoulder with a gleaming, golden brooch in the shape of a curling snake. He had forgone his usual leather armour underneath – hardly appropriate wedding attire – and instead had opted for bare arms, a golden cuff encircling his left bicep. An assortment of heavy rings completed the ensemble, though the third finger of his left hand remained bare.

He was deeply curious as to what Oscar had planned regarding their wedding rings – his _sponsus_ had simply told him he was dealing with it, and not to worry. Knowing Oscar, it would probably be a traditional style of ring, which he would have had something ridiculously sentimental engraved inside if he’d had the time to arrange such a thing. Dorian couldn’t help but smile at the idea.

Would he be wearing his golden armour, Dorian wondered? Apparently that was traditional for noblemen in the south…

Sera, who was wearing a wreath of flowers in her hair, appeared in front of him, and immediately started fiddling with his clothing. He batted her hand away.

“What are you doing?” he said irritably, smoothing the fabric.

“Flowers!” said Sera, holding up a small spray of white. “Can’t have a wedding without flowers.”

“Oh,” said Dorian, his ire gone. “Very well, but – let me.” He took the corsage from her hand and affixed it to his robes.

“Nice!” said Sera. “You alright? Don’t feel sick or anything?”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Dorian insisted.

“Alright, alright,” she said. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Oh,” said Varric suddenly, something in the tone of his voice catching Dorian’s attention. “Show time.” Dorian swung around.

Oscar had finally arrived, not in armour but in a very fetching fitted blue coat. He watched as Sera grabbed Oscar’s arm and held him still while she pinned his corsage to his coat, before he turned to approach the gazebo, and met Dorian’s eyes.

He grinned like a fool as he approached, and Dorian was sure his own expression mirrored Oscar's.

“Sorry I’m late,” Oscar murmured as he took Dorian’s hand.

“Worth the wait,” said Dorian. His smile widened even further. “You look marvellous.”

“As do you,” said Oscar, eyes shining.

“Naturally.”

Mother Giselle stepped forward, and Dorian felt a gentle tug on his hand leading him towards her.

_Oh, Maker_. It was really happening.

He had been shocked when Mother Giselle had approached him in front of Lord Cyril and offered him a sincere apology for her treatment of him during his time with the Inquisition. He had been even more surprised when she had agreed to officiate at his wedding. Evidently the intervening years had been kind to her.

“Thank you all for coming,” said Giselle, and the crowd hushed. Dorian was almost surprised they couldn’t hear the thundering of his heart in the quiet.

“I will begin with words from our Most Holy, Divine Victoria - love is the Maker’s best gift, and is infinite.”

Dorian glanced back at Leliana, standing at the back of the group. She nodded once at him, smiling.

“When you are ready,” said Giselle.

She looked expectantly at the two of them, and Dorian’s stomach clenched. Oh, Maker, was he supposed to make something up on the spot? Wedding vows in Tevinter involved repeating line after line of ancient Tevene, recited by an even more ancient cleric. And who was supposed to go first? Were they waiting for him to speak, or –

Oscar cleared his throat, and his grip on Dorian’s hand tightened slightly.

“I know the path ahead of you will be a difficult and dangerous one to walk,” he began. “My promise to you today is that you will never walk it alone. You will always have my support, my endless pride, and my love, every step of the way. I promise to work every day at giving you even a fraction of the happiness you have given me.” He released Dorian’s hand and pulled the lacquered box from his pocket, handing it to Sera, who opened it for him. Dorian peered over to look, his curiosity getting the better of him, but couldn’t quite see the rings from this angle.

Oscar lifted a ring out of the box.

“I swear, by the Maker and holy Andraste, to love this man the rest of my days,” he said as he placed the ring onto Dorian’s finger. He was a traditionalist after all. Dorian swallowed around the lump in his throat as he looked down at his ring.

It was utterly beautiful. Dorian had seen similar pieces in the collections of the elite in Tevinter, or adorning the finger of a powerful Magister. He couldn’t imagine the lengths Oscar had gone to to find something so perfect.

The only problem was, it didn’t fit. It was far too big, and would not stay in place on Dorian's finger.

It was no huge issue – the ring could be resized by a jeweller - but he saw Oscar’s face fall, and squeezed his hand in comfort... only to feel something squeezing his finger. He let out a gasp of shock and pulled his hand away, staring at it. Oscar’s gaze followed his.

Their eyes widening, Oscar and Dorian watched as the snake’s golden form seemed to shimmer and shift, its tail disappearing further into its mouth, until it was precisely the correct size, sitting perfectly on Dorian’s finger. An enchantment, he presumed, and grinned up at Oscar, who looked completely mystified.

“All is well?” said Mother Giselle, a gentle look of concern on her features.

“Quite well," said Dorian, taking Oscar’s hand between both of his.  _Quite an act to follow._ He took a fortifying breath.

“I don’t believe in love at first sight," he began. "And indeed, we didn’t fall madly in love straight away – at least, _I_ didn’t.” A murmur of laughter passed through the crowd.

“Before we were anything else to one another, we were friends. As well as being the man I love, you are the finest friend I have ever had. To find both of those things in one person was – unexpected, to say the least. Especially in _Ferelden_ , of all places.” Oscar chuckled, his eyes shining.

“I also never believed much in promises,” Dorian continued.  “Generally speaking, I found they were made to be broken. That was before I met you, of course. Now, there are _some_ promises I can make you. I promise to talk, and to listen. I promise I will apologise when I am wrong – although we both know I never am – and that however far apart we may be, I will always love and cherish you - until you’re a very old man, filled with regret that the beautiful young thing he married is now an old, fat, grey politician.” He smiled. “I will sorely need your strength, and kindness, in a land where both of those things are in short supply.”

He turned to Sera, who hurried forward with the ring box. He repeated Oscar’s final words as he placed the ring on his finger.

“I swear, by the Maker and holy Andraste, to love this man the rest of my days.”

They watched as the ring twisted slightly to fit Oscar’s finger, and then it was done.

Giselle was saying something, he wasn’t sure what; all he knew was that Oscar was kissing him. Dimly, he heard their friends cheering, Sera loudest of all.

Wrapping his arms around his new husband, Dorian considered the strangeness of life, and every moment, good and bad, that had led them to this point.

_It was all worth it_ , he thought, as he kissed Oscar back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Sponsus_ \- fiancé, betrothed


	4. Beloved and Precious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I have never experienced the loss of a limb, so apologies if, despite my research, I have represented anything incorrectly.

Wine flowed, lilting lute music floated through the gardens, and the air was filled with laughter as the former Inquisition celebrated their ex-leader’s marriage.

After the events of the last week, everyone was grateful for the chance to simply enjoy each other’s company and relax with a few drinks. Darkness had fallen, and the floating lights conjured by the court mages cast a warm glow over proceedings.

“Congrats,” said Bull, waving his goblet in Dorian’s direction. “So – won’t you get shit for this back home?”

Dorian, who was far too happy to care at this moment, shrugged.

“Probably,” he said. “A pity; I was so _popular_ back home before.” He sipped his wine.

“Anyway, as it’s only one item on an already very long list, they can give me all the shit they like.”

“Good for you,” said Bull. “But perhaps, not so good for – you know. Staying alive.”

“Believe me, when I’m done with the place, who I’m married to will be the very least of the reasons they’ll want to kill me.”

“Uh,” said Bull. “Well. Good luck with that. Give us a shout if any Vints need their heads knocking together.”

“Sounds fun,” agreed Thom.

“Practically a hobby at this point,” said Varric. “Though I might be a little busy bashing heads together myself in Kirkwall to rush to your aid.”

“Who would have thought, Varric,” said Dorian with a dramatic sigh. “The two of us, ending up in politics.”

“Tell me about it,” Varric grumbled. “I’ve been here – what, a week? – and I’m already practically buried in letters from Kirkwall nobles about this or that matter. _This_ merchant wants a license to breed wyverns, _that_ magistrate wants a pardon for his cousin who got drunk and robbed a bakery.” He shook his head with a huff of frustration. “They must know I’m not even in the city right now!”

“Are you really going to let someone breed wyverns in Kirkwall?” said Thom.

“Of course not,” said Varric. “I told him to try Starkhaven.”

As the others laughed, Dorian peered around, looking for Oscar. He had been doing the rounds, as he always did, making sure everyone was enjoying themselves. Even back in Skyhold he was constantly running all over the castle, listening to everyone’s problems, and asking their thoughts on the Inquisition’s progress. Dorian wondered how he felt about everyone going their separate ways; they had had little chance to discuss it yet with everything that had happened.

He finally spotted his husband – how strange that was to say, even to himself – talking to Josephine on the other side of the terrace. They almost looked as though they were arguing, except that Josephine was beaming broadly. After a few moments, Oscar seemed to give in, and nodded, before Josephine flung her arms around his neck. She pecked his cheek, before gliding off into the crowd.

Dorian made his way over to Oscar, who was still staring in the direction Josephine had gone.

“What was all that about?” he asked.

Oscar stared at him.

“Josephine, she said -“ He swallowed. “She said there were some discussions this afternoon, and as a wedding present, they – they want to give me all of the gold I was personally responsible for bringing in to the Inquisition.”

Dorian’s eyebrows rose.

“Isn’t that _most_ of it?”

“It – yes. It is.”

“Maker. I had no idea I was marrying into so much money.”

“Not that you need it, now,” teased Oscar.

“True enough,” said Dorian. “But I’m glad, nonetheless. You worked hard for all of that coin, and you deserve it. Especially after everything you’ve sacrificed.” Oscar glanced at his arm.

“That’s actually more or less what Josephine said,” he murmured.  “I hate to think they did it because they felt sorry for me.”

“Nonsense,” said Dorian. “They care for you, and are grateful, as they should be.”

“There’s a lot I could do with that sort of money,” Oscar mused.

“And no one better to do it.”

Oscar smiled. A burst of laughter drew their gazes for a moment.

“Probably the last time we’ll all be together,” Oscar mused, looking towards the group in the tavern.

“Oh, I doubt that,” said Dorian. “Perhaps we could arrange a ten-year meeting, as I hear the Dalish do. Show off all the successes we’ve had in the meantime.”

“What do you think _we’ll_ be doing in ten years’ time?” said Oscar, wrapping his arm around Dorian’s waist.

“Maker only knows,” said Dorian, with a snort of laughter. “I certainly could never have predicted the last few years. If the next ten are as eventful …”

“Let’s hope not,” chuckled Oscar. “I’m not sure my nervous system could take it.”

“Sadly, it seems we are not destined for quiet, peaceful lives.” Dorian took a sip of wine. “Good thing, too. How very dull.”

“To the next adventure,” said Oscar, releasing Dorian so he could lift his goblet.

They tapped their cups together, and it was at that moment that Sera spotted them toasting.

“Speech!” she yelled. Oscar was suddenly reminded of Dorian’s impromptu leaving party, that he had accidentally stumbled into.

“Speech!” Sera called again, as Oscar attempted to push the thoughts of that conversation from his mind. By now, others in the crowd had overheard, and joined in with their own demands for a speech. Bowing to the inevitable, Oscar made his way to the steps at the back of the terrace, and walked up the first few. A smattering of applause rippled across the crowd. Oscar looked around at he faces he’d spent the last several years living and fighting beside.

“Thank you all for coming,” he said to the group. “And for sharing this day with us. You’ve all been an important part of our story so far, and I’m glad to have you here to share in our happiness.” Another burst of applause crackled through the crowd before he continued.

"I can honestly say that absolutely nothing has proceeded as I expected it to since I arrived at the Winter Palace - but dealing with the unexpected has rather become our trademark.” The assembled group laughed.

“I didn’t expect to end this week no longer being Inquisitor,” said Oscar. “At some points I didn’t even expect to be alive.” He swallowed. “But most of all, I certainly didn’t expect to be _married_.”

More laughter, as Oscar considered his next words.

“Some thank yous, then,” he said. “To Josephine, for organising – well, everything, to Cassandra for the moral support, to Sera for being a fine ringbearer.”

Sera, her flower garland askew, waved her tankard at him.

“To all of you – thank you for everything you have given the Inquisition, and given me. Whatever your reasons, you fought bravely and risked your lives to stop Corypheus, and returned to assist this week when you need not have done so. So – thank you. I’m glad we got to spend this time together after all.”

Glancing around once more, Oscar spotted Leliana off to one side, cradling a goblet of honeyed wine. Her words of – was it only a few days ago? – echoed in his mind.

“And to my husband -”

It was the first time he’d said it out loud, and he had to pause a moment before continuing.

“Since we started the ceremony with some words of wisdom from Divine Victoria, it seems fitting to end the day with the same.” He reached out his hand to Dorian, who mounted the steps to take it.

“You and I have come so far through the darkness together,” Oscar said, as Dorian came to stand beside him. “It is time for us both to live in the light.”

Dorian placed his hands on Oscar’s shoulders as he leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips.

It had taken him a long time to be able to show affection like this in public – Oscar had always worn his heart on his sleeve, had never shied away from expressing his feelings in the open - but he was still the Inquisitor, and that had given Dorian pause. Since the defeat of Corypheus, he had relaxed his stance somewhat, and after all this time there was simply no point in hiding it any more – not among present company, at least.

“Anything you’d like to add?” Oscar asked him, his cheeks pink from happiness, as well as the wine.

“No,” said Dorian. “Except to thank _you,_  of course.”

“Thank me?” said Oscar in surprise. “Whatever for?”

“For all of this,” said Dorian, indicating the gathering. “It _was_ your idea, as I recall.”

“Well, thank you for saying yes,” said Oscar. “None of this would have happened if you hadn’t.”

“Oh, I’m sure there’d still have been a party,” said Dorian. “To celebrate your freedom from your Inquisitorial shackles.”

“And now here I am in marital shackles instead,” said Oscar, with a dramatic sigh.

“How you wound me, _amatus._ "

They headed down the steps, back toward the party.

“Is this anything like a Tevinter wedding?” said Oscar.

“Oh, no,” said Dorian. “Tevinter weddings are far more solemn affairs. Usually because one, or both, parties involved don’t actually want to _be_ there, of course. Elaborate outfits, long-winded vows in Tevene and Common … it’s the party that’s the good part. They can go on for days – noble families trying to out-do each other with the showiest gifts.”

“This was alright, though?” said Oscar. “Was it what you would have wanted?”

“Well,” said Dorian, considering. “The wine selection leaves a lot to be desired, but otherwise – “ He tangled his fingers with Oscar’s. “Perfection.”

A hush suddenly spread over the crowd, and Dorian and Oscar turned to follow everyone’s gaze. Dorian wondered if someone had secretly arranged some bawdy Orlesian entertainment. He hoped so.

His eyebrows rose as he saw Empress Celene herself gliding down the stairs, heading towards their group, her identical-looking handmaidens in her wake. He and Oscar exchanged a look of great surprise, before moving forward to greet her. The empress had been conspicuously absent during the proceedings of the Exalted Council, and all that had come after. Many speculated she had even left Halamshiral in the dead of night to return to the capital, but it appeared she had not.

“Your Majesty,” said Oscar with a bow, as Celene reached them.

“Lord Trevelyan,” said Celene, with a slight incline of her head. “Ambassador. We heard about your wedding ceremony - we were delighted to hear about such a happy occasion taking place at the Winter Palace, after such calamitous events recently. Our congratulations to you both.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” said Oscar.

“I also wished to extend a personal thanks to you, Lord Trevelyan,” continued Celene. “I understand that you managed to expose the Qunari plot against Orlais, at great personal cost.” Her pale eyes, just visible under her mask, flickered briefly down to Oscar’s arm.

“As a gesture of thanks, we would like to offer you the use of our summer estate on Lake Celestine, should you wish to use it for your honeymoon.”

Dorian and Oscar looked at each other, wearing near-identical expressions of shock. The empress’s estate on the lake was infamous for its luxury, Orlesian nobles going to great lengths to try and secure an invitation to Celene’s annual garden party held there. The lake at this time of year would be stunning – warm, sunlit days and cool, clear nights.

Oscar’s expression shifted slightly as he held Dorian’s gaze. _Shall we?_

Dorian’s answering expression clearly told Oscar everything he needed to know, as he turned back to Celene with a pleased smile on his face.

“That is exceedingly generous of you, Your Majesty,” he said. “We would be honoured to accept. And thank you for your hospitality in allowing us to hold our wedding here.”

“It was our pleasure,” said Celene. “I must retire, but please, enjoy the rest of your celebrations. My ladies in waiting will make the arrangements for your stay.”

Dorian and Oscar bowed again as Celene swept away, back into the innards of the palace.

“The summer estate!” said Cassandra, appearing out of nowhere at their side. “I’ve heard tales of it. Supposedly it is one of the most beautiful sights in Orlais. I’ve never met anyone who has even laid eyes on it.”

“I attended a summer salon there some years ago,” said Vivienne airily. _Of course you did,_ thought Dorian.

“The estate itself is hardly remarkable,” Vivienne continued. “But the setting is quite spectacular.” She regarded Dorian and Oscar, and while she didn’t smile, exactly, her expression softened slightly.

“You are fortunate indeed,” she said. “Enjoy your honeymoon.”

“It sounds like we will,” said Oscar happily, recovering his goblet, only to find it empty.

“Come," said Dorian. “Let’s find a refill, and then - I believe you owe me a dance.”

 

*          *          *

 

Some hours later, Dorian and Oscar burst, laughing, through the door of Oscar’s suite.

"Maker,” said Oscar. “I don’t think I’ve seen Sera that drunk since Leliana’s coronation.”

“Ah, yes,” said Dorian. “I shall go to my pyre never forgetting the expressions on the Grand Clerics’ faces when Sera climbed that statue of Andraste.” He looked around the room. “But look at all of this! Was this here this morning?”

“No,” said Oscar, looking around at the flowers, fresh fruit and expensive-looking bottles spread around the room. “They must have done it while we were at the wedding.” He lifted one of the bottles of brandy.

“Nightcap?”

Dorian crossed the distance between them, his gaze becoming heated.

“Actually,” he said, easing the bottle from Oscar’s hand. “I had something else in mind.”

“I thought you might,” said Oscar.

Dorian kissed him, then; not like the kisses they’d shared in front of the others. Now they were finally alone, and he rested his palms on Oscar’s cheeks as he deepened the kiss.

_Maker, I’ve missed this,_  he thought. They’d had few opportunities to be intimate since their arrival at the Winter Palace – they’d managed to spend Oscar’s first night at the Palace together, making up for the long months of separation, but since then, everything had gone from bad to worse and they’d barely had time to sleep, much less anything else.

Since the dissolution of the Inquisition, Dorian hadn’t wanted to press Oscar, who was still reeling from everything that had happened. Tonight felt like a renewal, like bringing the world back to an even keel. Nowhere did he feel as happy and at home as in Oscar’s arms, and smiled against his husband’s lips as he felt Oscar’s hand pull him closer.

He began to work on their clothing, knowing Oscar would need some assistance getting out of his – assistance he was only too happy to provide. Once the heavy coat and undershirt were on the floor, he pushed Oscar back to sit on the bed, and tugged at his boots.

Usually, Oscar would probably be working at the various buckles on Dorian’s clothing by this point, but after a few futile moments of working at the complicated fastenings, he let his hand drop. He sat motionless as Dorian deftly discarded his own clothing.

“A moment,” whispered Dorian in Oscar’s ear, before pressing a kiss to his cheek. He headed through to the adjacent room to freshen up.

When he returned, he almost tripped over his own discarded boots. The room was in near-darkness, the candles all extinguished except for one candelabra at the far side of the room. Oscar was already in bed, the covers pulled up to his chest.

Reaching the bed, Dorian slid under the covers, and re-lit the candles with a flick of his hand.

“I appreciate your wanting to set a mood,” he said, pressing his body against Oscar’s. “But I want to see my handsome husband. And naturally, you'll want to see me.”

Oscar's laugh sounded slightly forced. “You’ve seen me before.”

“Yes, but not on our wedding night.”

“I look the same as I always do,” said Oscar, still gripping the blankets tightly.

Dorian’s eyebrows knitted together slightly as he attempted to tug away the blankets covering them. The room was warm, and he longed to run his hands over every inch of Oscar’s skin that he could reach.

But Oscar’s grip on the blankets hadn’t loosened.

“Is something the matter?” said Dorian, sitting up. “Are you feeling unwell?”

“No,” said Oscar, though he didn’t sound sure.

“Then what?”

“Isn’t it –“ Oscar paused, clearly trying to find the right words.  “Doesn’t it bother you?”

“Doesn’t what bother me?”

Oscar’s expression – _what do you think?_ – made Dorian frown in confusion, until Oscar raised what was left of his left arm, still hidden under the sheet. Dorian’s face fell, and he kicked himself mentally for not realising sooner.

“Oh, _amatus,"_  he said sadly. “Of course it doesn’t bother me.”

“Really?” said Oscar, his tone clipped. “Because it bothers _me_.”

“Is it hurting you?” said Dorian, concerned.

“No,” said Oscar. “It’s not hurting. It’s also not _there_.” He huffed out a frustrated sigh. “I’ve needed help all day to get anything done. The simplest of tasks are beyond me - I can’t even _dress_ myself without help. I’ll be someone’s burden now.”

His head lowered. “And - I can’t even hold you, or touch you properly any more.  On our wedding night.” His voice became tremulous at the last words.

“Listen to me,” said Dorian firmly. He lifted Oscar’s chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. “You are no burden. You must give yourself time to adjust. It won’t be easy – but I know you, _amatus._  You will overcome this, like you do any obstacle thrown into your path.”

Oscar did not look convinced.

“And you are handsome as ever you were,” Dorian added.

Oscar rolled his eyes.

“I mean it,” Dorian said firmly. “Come along. Let me see.”

With obvious reluctance, Oscar let Dorian pull the blankets away.

Dorian gently cupped Oscar’s left elbow in his hand. The end was smooth and neat – most likely because it was a magical injury. Wounds healed by magic tended to be very clean – Dorian had wondered if Solas had had any part in the way the arm had healed. Oscar had been very fortunate to keep his elbow joint – it would be a big help in the months and years to come. Dorian brushed his thumb back and forth just above the elbow, until he heard a sniffle.

Looking up, he saw Oscar quickly swipe away a tear. Dorian could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen Oscar cry before.

“Now, now,” Dorian said, brushing them away with his thumbs. “No crying on our wedding night. Unless they’re tears of joy and rapture, of course.”

Oscar chuckled. “Sorry,” he said thickly.

“No apology necessary,” said Dorian. “Come here.”

He leaned in, but Oscar’s fingers against his chest stopped him, before he reached across to cover the end of his elbow again.

“Are you – _certain_ it doesn’t bother you?” Oscar said. “I mean – I know it doesn’t look very –"

It was unlike Oscar to be so insecure, and Dorian began to realise what a huge effect the loss of his arm was having on Oscar’s self-image. He had surprised Dorian in the beginning of their relationship with how playful and confident he had been in bed, and now to see him curled in on himself, cradling his arm, almost broke Dorian’s heart.

“Quite certain,” he said with a smile. “And as to not being able to touch me properly – well, it _does_ change things, it’s true.” His smile broadened. “But it will make things different, not worse. We will simply have to – get creative.”

Oscar smiled, finally.

“It might take a great deal of practice,” he said. “This is all rather new to me.”

“And to me,” said Dorian, curling his leg around Oscar’s hip, shifting his weight until he was atop him. “Thank goodness we have all this time to – _get to grips_ with everything.”

With a wicked grin, Oscar twisted beneath him, using his left arm to roll them over with a push. He smiled down at Dorian, looking triumphant.

“Now who's the show off?” said Dorian, before Oscar kissed him.


	5. The Height of Heaven

Dorian looked out over the crystalline waters of Lake Celestine as he sipped his tea. He was a city person in general, preferring the vibrancy and vitality of a metropolis around him, but he had to admit that Vivienne had been telling the truth when she had described the view here as spectacular.

Empress Celene’s estate sat at the edge of the lake in vast grounds, surrounded by private grassland and forest. The lake itself had its own private jetty, and a series of small, cosily furnished lodges for her invited guests dotted along the shore.

The main estate itself was typically Orlesian – ornate furniture and hangings, gilded pillars, curving staircases. At the back, a huge veranda, with steps leading down to the water’s edge. Sunlight glinted off the surface of the rippling lake, which was edged with trees. The air was fresh and warm, soft breezes carrying the scent of pine.

Dorian could almost feel the stress running off him and into the ground.

The estate had been totally empty save for a skeleton staff of servants, what with Celene splitting her time recently between Val Royeaux and Halamshiral. The staff, so far, had had the good sense to make themselves scarce for the most part, except when summoned. He and Oscar had been left to their own devices, which was exactly how they wanted it.

This was the first chance they had had in a long time to truly be alone together. Even after the defeat of Corypheus, Oscar had still been leading the Inquisition, with a great many demands on his time – with the Inquisition now disbanded and Dorian yet to formally take up his father’s seat, this would probably be their last chance to spend time together like this for a very long time – if ever.

They had arrived almost a week ago, and with several weeks still to go until they planned to leave, Dorian had tried to put such thoughts out of his mind. Their time at the estate so far had been filled with laughter and love – leisurely meals, long hours relaxing in the sun, evenings spent playing games, enjoying the contents of Celene’s private wine cellar, and making love.

Since their wedding night, Oscar’s mood had improved – free of his Inquisition responsibilities, and no longer surrounded by gossiping nobles, he seemed more relaxed, and less exhausted. He was clearly still frustrated by his situation, and the help he still needed to perform everyday tasks, but he was doing his best to enjoy this time they had together. He would still sometimes become quiet, his gaze unfocused as he looked out across the waters, and Dorian let him be in these moments.

Privately, though, Dorian still worried. Oscar had turned down his brother’s offer of his old rooms in their family’s estate, and instead had decided to accept Varric’s offer of an estate in Kirkwall. So far he was managing quite well with tasks during their holiday, and learning fast, but Dorian wondered how well he would fare on his own. He would have servants, but it was not the same as being cared for by someone who loved him.

Not that Dorian had any doubts about his husband’s strength or tenacity, but the loss was still fresh, and Oscar would need to go through much of the adjustment alone. Dorian was grateful that Oscar would at least have friends nearby – Varric would be busy but had promised to make time for a game of Wicked Grace whenever he could, and Sera, he had heard, had plans to head to the city herself eventually. 

Oscar was still asleep this morning – not that this was anything unusual. Dorian was usually awake before him, despite almost always going to bed later. Oscar wasn’t a morning person at the best of times, and certainly not during a relaxing holiday. On the plus side, it meant Dorian usually got to watch him stir into wakefulness, all frowns and sleepy murmurs.

The thought that he would only get to wake to Oscar sleeping beside him for a few more weeks caught Dorian unawares, and clutched at his heart painfully for a moment. Downing the last of his tea, he marched back indoors to see if his husband was awake.

In their bedchamber, Oscar was still curled up in their obscenely large bed. Dorian peeked out through the heavy curtains, letting a stream of bright sunlight in to the room, and heard a noise of protest from the bed behind him.

“Morning,” said Dorian, closing the curtains again. “Sleep well?”

He perched on the side of the bed, ruffling Oscar’s sleep-mussed hair. Oscar murmured grumpily, pulling the covers over his head. Smirking, Dorian leaned in, tugging at the covers until Oscar’s eyes and nose were visible.

“Go away,” said Oscar, unable to hide his grin.

“Oh, very well,” said Dorian, rising. Before he could take more than a step, however, Oscar’s hand had shot out and grabbed him around the wrist, pulling him back into the bed. Oscar tugged the sheets over them both, wrapping his arm around Dorian’s waist.

“Not quite ready to get up, then?” said Dorian, linking his fingers with Oscar’s.

“No,” said Oscar. His stomach let out a loud growl.

“Are you sure?” said Dorian. “There’s quite a spread for breakfast.”

Oscar pressed warm kisses to Dorian’s throat, sending a tingle up his spine.

“Soon,” he said, breath hot against Dorian’s ear. “I’ve something else I need to attend to first.”

“Oh?” said Dorian. “And what – "

He paused as Oscar shifted against him, the evidence of his desire pressing into Dorian’s hip.

“Ah,” he said. “Perhaps I can assist?”

“I should hope so,” said Oscar, as Dorian twisted in his arms to face him.

Later, they rose, and Oscar washed before dressing. When Dorian emerged from the bathroom, Oscar had managed to wriggle into his trousers and shirt by himself, but was unable to fasten his leather vest. He had had no chance yet to purchase new clothing that he would be able to get on and off by himself. As they were alone, he could have simply just worn his shirt, but Oscar preferred to be properly dressed – something Dorian could entirely understand.

“Sorry,” muttered Oscar, as Dorian fastened the buckles.

“There’s no need for these constant apologies, _amatus_ ,” said Dorian. “You’ve nothing to apologise for.”

“Perhaps,” said Oscar. “I’m just sorry you’re stuck with all this.”

“Don’t be,” said Dorian. “It’s no trouble.”

“I know, but –“

“ _Enough_ ,” said Dorian, not unkindly. “Now, let us begin the hard work of spending all day by the water.”

They headed down to the veranda, Oscar complaining of hunger. His appetite had improved since their arrival, which was a relief to Dorian. Oscar had always had a gargantuan appetite, partly due to the physical demands of his work, but also simply because that was his nature. He had picked at small meals while they’d still been at the Winter Palace, but since arriving at the lake seemed to have remembered his love for food.

Eating had proven difficult on occasion, depending on the dish; they had been presented with an impressive steak dinner their first night at the lake. Oscar loved steak, but the humiliation of having to have his meat cut up for him had rather taken the shine off the meal. Since then, and after Dorian’s quiet word to the kitchen staff, their food had been mostly platters of sliced, cooked meats, cubed cheeses, chunks of bread, fruits cut into elaborate shapes, chocolates. It had become deeply fashionable in Orlais to sit around a pot of melted cheese and dip things into it with a fork, such as meat or bread, and so they did the same, laughing as they attempted to feed one another the end results.

They dined this particular morning on various pastries, and more of the spiced tea that was always kept in supply for the Empress. Oscar tore at his croissant with his teeth, while Dorian read the letter that had arrived for him that morning.

“Any news?” said Oscar.

“Just an update from home,” said Dorian. “Nothing of any great import. Mae says Roe has been putting in some bizarre requests again.”

“This is the magister in charge of Tevinter’s military efforts against the Qunari?”

“Mmm,” said Dorian, still perusing the letter. “He’s done a decent job, so far, but he’s always been an advocate of increased spending on the military, funnelling resources into the fight.”

"Something you disagree with.”

“It’s not that I disagree, exactly,” said Dorian. “The Qunari are a very real threat back home. If they really decided to point their full might at Tevinter…” He shook his head. “But Roe forgets that our real strength is in our magic, not just our soldiers. That’s what’s held the Qunari back this long – letting the Circles wither because he thinks they’re full of stuffy academics is going to lead us into disaster.”

“There are others who feel that way, surely?” said Oscar, sipping his tea.

“Of course,” said Dorian. “Alexius did, for one. Though his actions hardly endeared the cause to the rest of the Magisterium. Currently, Maevaris and her friend, Magister Aurarius, have been putting the case forward. “

“Slow progress?”

“To put it mildly,” said Dorian, folding the letter. “ _No_ progress would be more accurate. But Mae seems to think one of the consiliare seems amenable to their ideas.”

“That’s the advisory council to the Archon?”

“So you _do_ listen to me ramble on about Tevinter.”

“Of course I do. It’s very interesting. Well, except your endless lectures on our terrible, biased literature about the Imperium."

"It _is_ terrible, and it _is_ biased," said Dorian, with a shrug. "Don't get me started. Anyway, to have the support of a consiliari would be a boon.” He paused. “My father was once on the council.”

“Once? It isn’t a lifelong role?”

“Usually,” said Dorian. “He lost his seat – my doing, evidently.”

“Your doing? What did you do?”

“I had the unmitigated gall to live my life out in the open.” He looked out over the water. “He stepped down after I left. Couldn’t hack the scandal, it seems.”

“That’s hardly your fault.”

“Well, that’s not entirely true, though I confess I have a hard time feeling guilty about it,” said Dorian. “It was certainly a black mark against my family’s name – but given that I’m now the sole representative of House Pavus, it’s merely a drop in the ocean where the Magisterium is concerned.”

After they had eaten, they sat for a while at the veranda’s large table. Dorian started a reply to Mae, while Oscar took some time to pen a public address, to be sent on to Skyhold and read to the people of the Inquisition, before they left for good. He had thanked his inner circle personally, but there were hundreds of men and women who had fought bravely for the Inquisition who also needed to be recognised. If he couldn’t be there to address them all in person, then he would send a message, and also have copies made so they could all see or hear it.

Once that was complete, the ink drying, he started work on a second letter. Dorian glanced up to see him frowning at the blank page.

“What in the world has the paper done to deserve that face?” said Dorian.

Oscar’s face relaxed a fraction.

“I’m writing to my family, to tell them about us.” He paused. “I don’t quite know how to put it.”

Dorian shrugged. “Dear Mother, Father and Maxwell - I got married a week or so ago," he said. "His name is Dorian. He enjoys fine wines, good literature, and my thighs in soft buckskin.”

Oscar groaned, resting his forehead in his palm.

“Hope you’re all well, best wishes, et cetera,” finished Dorian.

“Thank you so much for your help,” said Oscar wryly.

“You are most welcome,” said Dorian, who had finished his letter. “Can we go and laze around in the sun now?”

Oscar laughed. “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll join you.”

“Don’t be too long,” said Dorian, pressing a kiss to the top of Oscar’s head as he passed.

Oscar looked at the paper again, tapping his pen absentmindedly against the table as he thought. Presently, he began to write.

_Dear Mother, Father and Maxwell…_

 

*          *          *

 

All too soon, the weeks passed and they began their preparations to leave the summer estate, and head for Val Royeaux. They would part company in the capital, though not before a reunion with friends – Oscar had received a letter from Leliana requesting his presence at the Grand Cathedral once he returned to the city. She was brief in the letter, but Oscar knew she would not summon them without reason.

The colour had indeed returned to Oscar’s cheeks – not to mention the rest of him. The time spent in the sun had turned his skin pink at first, but now he had been left with a scattering of freckles across his shoulders, to Dorian’s delight.

After their last dinner in the grand dining hall, they retired to the veranda to watch the sun set over the lake, a blanket over their shoulders to ward off the evening chill. As the stars began to appear overhead, Dorian decided to bring up something that had been on his mind for the last few days.

“I wanted to ask you something,” he said.

“Mmm?” said Oscar, his head resting on Dorian’s shoulder.

“I’ll be heading off soon,” said Dorian. “Will you – be alright? By yourself?”

Oscar was quiet for a moment.

“I don’t know,” he said eventually. “I suppose so. I’m hoping to get some new clothing while I’m in Val Royeaux.” He lifted his head and smirked at Dorian. “Something with less buckles.”

“While less aesthetically pleasing, that will certainly be a help,” said Dorian. “But still – “

“Don’t worry about me, love,” said Oscar. “I’m more worried about you.”

“About me?” said Dorian in surprise. “Whatever for?”

Oscar’s eyes became sad.

“You talk about the way magisters go after their rivals all the time. And I imagine your work won’t exactly make you the most popular man in the Imperium.”

“You are a master of understatement, _amatus_ ,” said Dorian. “But don’t worry. No magister worth his or her salt goes anywhere without bodyguards - not to mention I’m perfectly adept at defending myself as it is.”

“I know,” said Oscar. “But still.” He hooked the golden chain around Dorian’s neck with a finger, tugging the locket out from under his shirt. He looked at it as it rested in his palm. Its twin was hidden under his own shirt.

“At least we have these,” said Oscar. “I don’t think I’d be able to go that long without hearing your voice, otherwise.”

Dorian regarded him in the low light. Time and again he marvelled at this man, and his tender heart. Being Inquisitor had changed him, certainly, but Dorian was relieved that his sweet nature seemed to have survived the ordeal.

“Likewise,” he said quietly.

“I’ve never seen anything like these before,” said Oscar. “Where are they from?”

“They’re something of a group effort, actually,” said Dorian. He hesitated, and Oscar tilted his head to regard him.

“What is it?”

“Do you know why I got us these?” said Dorian, plucking the locket from Oscar's fingers. “It was when I went home – the last time. The journey took weeks, of course – weeks of sleeping alone in narrow little bunks, or in taverns here and there. And then, there it was – Minrathous. I should have been ecstatic to see it again – and don’t get me wrong, the sight was something to behold after so much time away. But all I could think of was how much I wished you were there to see it with me.” He clicked open the locket, running his thumb over the crystal within.

“As the weeks went on, I thought to myself, well, this won’t do at all.” Snapping the locket shut, he laced their fingers together.

“I suppose I knew, deep down, that I’d need to return some day. And I knew that I wouldn’t be able to endure it without ... something. Some way for us to be in contact. Letters simply wouldn’t be enough. So I started looking into options. I remembered some dwarven message crystals Dagna had mentioned, that Inquisition scouts had recovered while excavating old ruins, and started a little work of my own. These were the result.” He squeezed Oscar’s hand. “I know it won’t be the same, not at all. But – it’s something.”

“It’s something, alright,” said Oscar. “To think we can speak whenever we wish, over such a distance. It’s extraordinary.”

“Dagna believes that some dwarven crystals were even able to send images of the people speaking. We looked into it, but couldn’t get it to work without shattering the crystals. I’ll keep researching, though. There are all sorts of forgotten magics in the Imperium, and since the Inquisition helped Orzammar with that whole earthquake thing, there are people I can contact there, too.”

“Good luck,” said Oscar, returning his head to Dorian’s shoulder. Dorian released his hand, and wrapped his arm around Oscar’s shoulder instead.

They lapsed into silence, watching the last of the light leave the sky. Dorian thought Oscar had fallen asleep, but when he glanced down, he saw his husband looking up at the stars.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked.

“You,” said Oscar.

“But of course,” said Dorian. “Anything about me specifically?”

“Fishing for compliments?” said Oscar, sitting up and stretching.

“Always.”

Oscar snorted.

“Well, actually - I was thinking this is our last night here, and we haven’t gone for a dip in the lake even once,” he said.

“A dip in the lake? You must be joking,” said Dorian. “The lake is beautiful, but it’s meant to be looked at, not jumped in.”

“Oh, come on,” said Oscar. “It’d be fun.”

“If you count almost freezing to death as fun,” said Dorian. “Which, now I think about it, you may well do.”

“We won’t freeze to death,” said Oscar, standing. “Come on.”

“You’re quite serious, aren’t you?” said Dorian, regarding him.

“Quite serious,” confirmed Oscar.

“Couldn’t we just take a warm bath?” said Dorian plaintively. It was no good. Oscar had a determined, slightly mischievous expression on his face that Dorian both loved and hated in equal measure. Hated, because he never could say no to it.

"Well, if we must,” he said, rising to his feet. “But you’re personally responsible for warming me up afterwards.”

“Says the fire mage,” said Oscar. “But don’t worry. I shall do my very best.”

A short time later, Dorian stood at the water’s edge. The evening breeze across his bare skin was already making him shiver. He let the water lap over his toes, and hopped backwards with a yelp.

Oscar, who had charged straight into the water, laughed.

“Are you going to stand there all night?” he said.

“It’s freezing,” complained Dorian.

“Not once you get in,” said Oscar. “Come on.” He stood, walking towards the shore, and Dorian watched the water run down the contours of his body.

He felt warmer already.

Oscar took his hand, and despite Dorian’s better judgement, he allowed Oscar to lead him into the dark water. He sucked in a breath as they headed in deeper, the water reaching his knees, his thighs …

Oscar chuckled at his hiss of displeasure and released his hand, before ducking completely under the water and emerging a short time later, his hair slicked back against his head. Dorian stood still, his arms wrapped around himself.

“Since you’re so fond of splashing about naked,” he said, watching Oscar attempt an inelegant one-armed crawl, “I shall have to show you the baths in Minrathous one day.” He shivered again. “At least the water there is _warm_.”

Oscar stilled, and smiled fondly at him.

“Come here,” he said, holding out his hand. Dorian reluctantly uncrossed his arms and allowed Oscar to pull him into an embrace. Buoyed by the water, Oscar wrapped his legs around Dorian’s waist, his arm wrapped around his shoulders.

“Hmm,” said Dorian, returning the embrace. “Perhaps this night-time swimming business has _some_ merit, after all.”

Oscar, grinning triumphantly, leaned down and kissed him. Returning the kiss, Dorian quickly forgot the chill of the water. Heat, and desire, grew between them as the kiss continued, mouths roaming, Dorian’s hands pulling Oscar’s hips closer.

“Can we go back inside now?” he hissed into Oscar’s ear, before capturing the lobe with his lips.

“Alright,” said Oscar. “Just one thing I want to do first.”

“What’s th-“

Dorian didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence as Oscar leaned backwards, sending them off-balance, toppling into the water with a splash.

Standing up, sputtering, Dorian pushed the hair off his forehead and glared at Oscar, who was bobbing in the water nearby and grinning like a maniac.

“Oh, you _bastard_ ,” he spat, water dripping from his nose. “I _hate_ you.”

Oscar laughed in response, and poked Dorian’s thigh with his foot.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you warmed up.”

“About time,” said Dorian, though the cold was no longer bothering him. Not that he would ever admit it to Oscar.

He let Oscar walk ahead of him, enjoying the view as he walked out of the water and reached for his clothing. Taking one last look up at the stars, Dorian headed back to shore, already longing for the warmth of the fireplace, and Oscar’s embrace.


	6. Jeux Sans Frontieres

 

Oscar and Dorian’s journey to Val Royeaux was uneventful. They travelled north, around the edge of Lake Celestine, which eliminated the need for them to cross the Waking Sea – a fact for which Dorian was extremely grateful. The trip also allowed them one last journey in each other’s company.

They were met outside the city by one of Leliana’s agents, who bowed low before escorting them to the Grand Cathedral. The last time they had been here was over a year ago, for Leliana’s coronation - having a Tevinter mage in the centre of the congregation had made the Grand Clerics nervous, but Leliana had insisted that as a valued member of the Inquisition, Dorian was welcome.

Dorian had told him that the Imperial Cathedral in Minrathous was several times bigger than this one. Staring up at the immense, white building, Oscar tried to imagine such a thing.

Once inside, the agent showed them into an office and hurried off, and moments later Leliana herself appeared, dressed in a somewhat less ornate headdress than usual.

“My friends,” she said, stepping forward. “It is good to see you.” Oscar bowed.

“Most Holy,” he said.

“I have told you many times,” said Leliana, laughter in her voice. “There’s no need to bow when we’re alone. And you can call me Leliana.”

“Very well, Leliana,” said Oscar, smiling back. “How have you been?”

“I see you took my advice about a new milliner,” said Dorian.

“I am well,” said Leliana. “And I’m afraid this headdress has been in the Chantry’s possession for many years. I prefer it, though - the bigger one makes my neck ache.”

“I'd imagine so,” said Dorian.

“It was kind of you to let us stay in your private suites,” said Oscar, as Leliana gestured for them to sit.

“Not at all,” she said. “They are immense, and are intended for use by visiting heads of state.”

“I doubt they see many visiting heads of state from Tevinter,” said Dorian. “I don’t imagine that was a popular decision.”

“True,” she said. “There were some who were concerned about your staying here, given your recent … promotion. There are a great many things I am doing that are not popular decisions. But they _are_ right.”

“Then we have something in common,” said Dorian.

“Indeed,” said Leliana. “May the Maker watch over both our paths.”

“I hope He does more than just watch,” said Dorian. “Perhaps His bride could send another Herald? The last one got so much done.”

Oscar shook his head, smiling.

“Your letter mentioned something about a meeting,” he said, trying to steer them back on track. “Is that why we’re here?"

“No,” said Leliana. “At least, not at this moment - I simply wished to greet you. That meeting will be tonight. I also needed to ask you to sign some documents, to formalise the dissolution of the Inquisition.”

Leliana had mentioned this to Oscar before they had left the Winter Palace for their honeymoon. While the council had accepted his decree, there was – naturally – paperwork that needed to be drafted and written up. Once signed by Oscar, and witnesses, confirmations would be sent to heads of state across Thedas, and the original held in the vaults at the Cathedral itself.

“Very well,” said Oscar. “When would be best?”

“This afternoon, if you are amenable,” said Leliana.

“Of course.”

She stood, and the two men followed suit.

“I will have someone show you to your rooms,” she said. “Oh, and Dorian, everything is ready for your departure in the morning.”

“Oh,” said Dorian. “Thank you. It was good of you to make the arrangements.”

Leliana inclined her head. “I have contacts throughout Thedas who I know can be trusted. One of my people will meet you near Cumberland when you switch carriages there, and then again in Nevarra, as we planned.”

Oscar frowned. Dorian hadn’t mentioned anything about switching carriages on his journey.

“What’s this about?” he interjected.

“I suggested that Dorian change carriages along his route, in case he is followed.”

“You think anyone would? Aren’t most of the people who might threaten him actually _in_ Tevinter?”

“Most,” said Leliana, “but not all. The Inquisition is not the only power to have agents all over Thedas. I doubt the news of Dorian’s new position will have gone over well with all in Minrathous.”

“How far will these agents be able to travel with Dorian?” said Oscar.

“All the way to the capital,” said Leliana. “I have people headed there myself.”

“Heading for Tevinter?” Dorian said. “Can I ask why?”

Leliana smiled enigmatically.

“You can ask,” she said over her shoulder, as she headed for the door. The servant who had brought them entered the room again, bowing, and gestured for them to follow.

“You never mentioned anything about this,” whispered Oscar as they followed the servant. “Why not?”

“I didn’t think it was important,” said Dorian, as the servant held the door of their suite open for them to enter. She left, the door clicking shut behind her.

“You didn’t think it was important?” echoed Oscar in disbelief. “International assassins are trying to kill you, and _you don’t think it’s important_?”

“May I remind you how many international assassins have tried to kill _you_ , as recently as last month?”

“Yes, but –"

“It’s merely a precaution. Why is it bothering you?”

“You’ll be alone,” said Oscar. “And - I suppose it just – makes it feel more real. _Too_ real. The fact that you’re leaving tomorrow, and that even the journey will be such a danger… and that there’s nothing I can do …”

Oscar tailed off. He hadn’t admitted it, but that was almost the worst part of losing his arm. Eating, dressing, those were all things he could overcome, given time and practice. But not being able to fight …

Several people had told him of one-armed warriors they’d known who were great fighters, and Oscar believed that he would be able to relearn some form of combat. But right now, he would be useless if anything were to happen. Soon enough it would be academic anyway, as Dorian would be far from him even if he were at full strength, but even so – this reminder of the imminent dangers to Dorian came at a bad time.

Dorian had crossed the room and taken Oscar by the upper arms. Oscar waited for his reassuring words, but instead, Dorian folded him into an embrace.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low.

Oscar held him as best he could, pulling him close with his left arm as his right hand stroked through his hair.

“I know,” he said.

“It will get easier.”

“If you say so,” he said, one corner of his mouth tugging upwards.

Dorian released him, but not before pressing a kiss to his temple.

“The journey will be fine,” said Dorian. “I shall be calling you every day to complain how terribly dull the scenery is.”

“You’d better,” said Oscar.

“Count on it. A large part of the journey will be across the Silent Plains. Nothing except blighted wasteland for miles around. Having your dulcet tones to cheer me up will help immensely, I'm sure.”

At that moment, the servant from before was back again.

“My Lords,” she said. “The representatives have assembled and are awaiting your arrival.”

“Our – the signing? That’s now?” said Oscar, nonplussed.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Shit,” said Oscar. “Sorry,” he added, at the servant’s raised eyebrow. “Can you – give us a few minutes? We’ll be out momentarily.”

“Yes, my Lord,” said the servant, exiting the room.

“Quick,” said Oscar, gesturing to their trunk. “My tunic.”

Between them they managed to get Oscar into his formal tunic, and Dorian straightened the blue sash as Oscar ran a comb through his hair. He’d simply have to go without the usual boots and trousers that went with the jacket.

“Alright?” he said, turning around. Dorian made a few last-minute adjustments to the fastenings of Oscar’s collar.

“Alright,” he said approvingly. “Let’s go.”

They dashed out to meet the servant, who led them along hallway after hallway, their footsteps echoing off the high ceilings. Eventually they passed through a side door into a huge, vaulted chamber where a group was awaiting their presence.

“My apologies,” said Oscar, panting slightly. “I lost track of time.”

“Thank you for coming, Lord Trevelyan,” said Lord Cyril Prosper with a bow. “It is good to see you again.”

“Lord Cyril,” said Oscar in surprise. “I’d thought you’d have returned to Chateau Haine.”

“I did, my lord,” said Cyril. “Most Holy requested my presence as a member of the Exalted Council. It is such a shame Arl Teagan was not able to make the journey this time.”

Oscar was secretly relieved. Although Ferelden had approved of the Inquisition disbanding, he couldn’t shake the impression that the Arl still disliked him intensely. He could understand the man’s wariness, but even so, the vast majority of their correspondence to date had been awkward at best.

“Who will be representing Ferelden in his place?” he asked.

“Bann Alfstanna of Waking Sea,” said Leliana, indicating the woman to step forward.

“Lord Trevelyan,” said the Bann. “It’s good to finally meet you. Your people helped protect my lands during the whole mess with the mages and Templars. It’s good to be able to express my gratitude in person.”

“I’m glad we were able to help,” said Oscar. It was certainly different to have a representative from Ferelden who was actually cordial towards him.

“Will three witnesses suffice?” said Oscar.

“Four,” said a familiar voice behind them.

Oscar swung around at the sound. Cassandra had entered the room, her smile broadening as she strode towards them. Oscar stepped forward to shake her hand, but to his surprise she pulled him into a hug, so firm it almost squeezed the breath from his lungs.

“It is good to see you,” she said earnestly, as they parted. “You too, Dorian.”

“Likewise,” said Dorian warmly. “I trust you’re well?”

“I am,” said Cassandra, who looked it. “It is strange to think that this is the end, though.”

“Are you here just for this?” said Oscar.

“No,” said Cassandra, “but we can speak on that later.” She continued as Oscar and Dorian exchanged a look of confusion.

“My uncle has sent a writ approving me to sign the documents in his name, on behalf of Nevarra.” She scowled. “To be honest, I think he was simply too lazy to make the journey. And as one of the founding members of the Inquisition, Leliana felt I should be here.”

“She’s quite right,” said Oscar. “Well, shall we get this over with?”

The documents were already spread out on the table – pages and pages of dry, legal text setting the Inquisition’s fate in stone. It did not prohibit an Inquisition from ever forming again, but did outline a series of requirements and restrictions that were to be put in place, should anyone ever consider forming one.

A clerk lifted the first page, and began to read.

Towards the end of the first page, Oscar’s attention started to wander. The text was dry and dense, the clerk reading it in a flat monotone.

He wished they had asked Dorian to read it. Then everyone would concentrate.

“Clerk Lewys,” said Leliana, making everyone in the room jump. “Perhaps we could skip to the pertinent points at the end of the document?” She looked around at the witnesses. “Copies will be given to you for review, of course.”

Everyone looked greatly relieved as the clerk, a disapproving twist to his mouth, fished out the last page from his stack.

The document ended with a paragraph confirming the dissolution of the organisation formerly known as the Inquisition, and the returning of its lands, holdings and personnel to their former owners. In the event of disputed lands or resources, these would be equally divided as per the agreement drawn up with the Inquisition’s Ambassador and Quartermaster. All persons previously working with or for the Inquisition would no longer be able to describe themselves as belonging to the organisation or act in its name or on its behalf.

As the weight of his decision settled on Oscar, a hollow feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. Everything that had happened from the conclave onwards had led to this moment. He had not made the decision hastily, nor would he change it, but nevertheless to see it realised like this was a shock to the system.

A chapter of his life was ending, for better or worse, and it was with a heavy heart that he stepped forward with the others to sign the documents.

He signed first, followed by Cassandra, the Fereldan and Orlesian representatives, and finally Dorian. The clerk pressed a large wax seal of the Chantry’s sunburst to the bottom of the document, and Leliana signed underneath it.

It was done.

“Thank you, everyone,” said Leliana. “That concludes our business.” She looked over at Cassandra. “I will be along shortly.” She exited the room, her attendants trailing after her.

Oscar shot a confused look at Cassandra. The Bann and Lord Cyril were watching them curiously.

“Come with me,” said Cassandra to Oscar.

She led Oscar and Dorian out of a different door than Leliana had left from, and through another side door, which she unlocked with a heavy, rusted key. The door opened onto to a narrow spiral staircase, lit by flickering torches.

Down and down they went, until Oscar almost felt dizzy.

“I hear you are heading for Kirkwall once you leave the city?” said Cassandra conversationally as they descended, her voice amplified around the narrow stairwell.

“Yes,” said Oscar. “I’ll stay here a short while, though, to wrap up some business.”

“Glad to hear it,” said Cassandra. “I will be remaining for a time myself.”

“Oh?”

“Leliana plans to make the Exalted Council permanent, to advise her on various matters,” said Cassandra. “She has asked me to join.”

Oscar’s eyebrows rose. “I think that’s an excellent idea,” he said. “Will you be her Right Hand?”

“No,” said Cassandra. “She has only said so far that she has plans. Though, to be honest, I am not sure I would accept, even if the position were offered.”

“You don’t agree with what Leliana is doing?”

“Some of her changes are certainly ... controversial,” said Cassandra. “But I believe she acts in the best interests of the people. No, it is simply time for me to move on. I swore to rebuild the Seekers, and that is where I must focus now.”

“It seems everyone has found a place for themselves after leaving the Inquisition,” said Oscar. “I’m glad. It makes me proud.”

Cassandra smiled over her shoulder at him.

“And you?” she said. “What is to be your next adventure?” Oscar’s face fell slightly.

“I’m afraid _my_ next great adventure will be figuring out how to put my trousers on by myself,” he said, smiling ruefully. “After that? Well, who knows.”

Cassandra’s expression turned sympathetic.

“Somehow I doubt that will be all you accomplish,” she said. “You do not strike me as the type who is ready to retire just yet.”

“We’ll see,” said Oscar non-committally. “At the moment, I’m not sure I’d be much use to anybody.”

They had reached the end of the staircase, and Cassandra stopped short.

“Do not say such things,” she said. “Think of all you have accomplished. It was not all because of your skills as a warrior. It was your leadership, your guidance, that led the Inquisition to its successes.”

“You of all people should understand how it might feel to no longer be able to fight, Cassandra,” said Oscar, frowning slightly.

“I cannot imagine,” she said quietly, after a pause. “And I know it will not be easy. But do not think you no longer have anything to give.”

“I don’t think that,” said Oscar. “I just - need to figure out what that will be.”

Cassandra moved forward again, and Oscar felt Dorian’s hand squeeze his shoulder before they followed her. They were now heading along a torch-lined corridor, towards a door. Cassandra opened it, and they stepped into a small, dungeon-like chamber that reminded Oscar of Haven.

Oscar stopped short as a familiar face turned to greet him.

“Scout Harding,” he said in surprise, shaking her hand. “What brings you here?”

“Same thing as you, I think,” said Harding. “Good to see you, Trevelyan. And you, Dorian,” she said, leaning around Oscar’s legs to wave at him.

“A pleasure,” said Dorian. “Though I can’t say I’m clear on what brings any of us here, beyond a summons from the Divine.”

“Leliana has been re-activating some of her old contacts, from when she was your spymaster,” said Cassandra. “She is Divine now, and so her hand cannot be seen in this. But she still has more reach than almost anyone in Thedas, with her network.”

“To what end?” said Oscar.

“She's attempting to track any of Solas’s agents that she can,” said Harding. “Most of the Inquisition’s elven servants and agents have mysteriously gone missing – fortunately not including Charter,” she continued. “And of course, to see if she can find any sign of Solas himself, but – I don’t think that’s too likely.”

“Not unless he wishes to show himself, no,” said Oscar.

“So far, all we’ve found is that a lot of our former agents were heading north.”

“North?” said Oscar.

“A group of them were spotted crossing the border into the Imperium,” said Harding. Oscar and Dorian exchanged a look.

“Of course,” said Oscar wearily. Was everyone going to bloody Tevinter except him?

He walked around the large table in the middle of the room. On its surface, maps of Thedas, with notes and markers scattered across them. Oscar placed his hand on the tabletop as he leaned over the maps, his eyes scanning the familiar names. He looked at their current location in Val Royeaux, and let his eyes drift up, right up, to Minrathous at the top.

It was easy, sometimes, to forget just how very far away it was.

A shadow fell across the doorway, and Oscar raised his head to see Leliana enter. She had changed out of her Chantry robes, and was back in the attire she used to wear around Skyhold. Oscar understood – he himself was keen to get out of his formalwear. It was the robes people saw when Leliana was before them, the office – except among those who knew her best. When she was involved in affairs such as those they were discussing now, she was just Leliana, not Divine Victoria, and she was dressed to reflect it.

“My agents have found nothing,” she said, joining them around the table. “With the eluvians, he could be anywhere.”

Cassandra’s expression creased into a frown.

“With the Inquisition officially disbanded, we have no army, no formal alliances,” she said.

“We have what we truly need,” said Leliana. Oscar couldn’t help but agree. One of the main reasons he had decided to disband the Inquisition was the corruption that had taken root. Discovering the depths of the betrayal had cut him deeply. He’d always been proud of the Inquisition’s people, and had trusted them – just as he had once trusted Solas. With the Inquisition no longer a formal organisation, they had the freedom and agility to work on finding Solas without infiltration.

“We will need to be careful,” said Cassandra with a sigh. Leliana nodded.

“Solas knows everything about us,” she said. “Who we are, how we work. Our strengths and weaknesses.”

Oscar absentmindedly lifted a dagger from the table in front of him as he considered her words. She was quite right. The former Inquisition would need to leave Skyhold, he was certain – it had once been Solas’s own fortress, and was the first place he, or his agents, would look for them. He had complete knowledge of not only every aspect of the Inquisition since its inception, but the lives, connections and abilities of everyone who had fought for it. Neither Oscar, nor any of his former inner circle, would be able to truly move effectively against Solas.

Secretly, Oscar wasn’t sure anyone could; Solas was now possessed of immense power, and apparently had also built a worldwide network of spies and agents at his bidding.

But Solas had fought at Oscar’s side for a long time. While he couldn’t claim to truly know the man – especially given everything that had happened recently – they had spoken often and at length on a number of topics, and Oscar had always enjoyed their talks. Solas’s tales of historical events he had seen reflected in the Fade had particularly fascinated him.

It did not surprise Oscar that Solas was evidently heading for Tevinter. To gain access to the type of magics he would likely be looking for, it would be the obvious place to go.

There was no doubt Solas knew Oscar would be looking for him; working against him in the shadows. Oscar wondered if that was secretly what he wanted. He held on to that belief, nurtured it, because it was the only thing that gave him hope that Solas might be stopped. Deep down, he believed there was still something redeemable in Solas. He had to.

He looked up at his friends again, who had fallen silent, each lost in thought.

“Then we find people he doesn’t know,” he said, drawing their attention. Solas wasn’t the only one who could recruit agents, he thought to himself.

“We will save our friend from himself,” he said. “If we can.”

He looked down at the map again, at Tevinter, and thought of how much it was taking from him. He stabbed the dagger defiantly into the map, through the heart of the Imperium. The action was oddly therapeutic.

“You truly believe that’s possible?” said Cassandra. “After what you told us?”

“I do,” said Oscar. “He saved my life, when he could have just let me die. Then no one would have known of his plans, or even his true identity. But he saved me, and let me go.” He chewed on a corner of his lip, thoughtfully. “I have to believe it means something, that he doesn’t really want to do this.” He sighed.

“I think he’s acting out of grief, and regret. My hope is that, given time, and work on our parts, that we can help him.”

“Or simply kill him,” said Leliana. “If it comes to it.”

“If there is no other way,” said Oscar heavily. “But I don’t believe it will come to that. Besides, I’m not even sure there’s anyone who _could_ defeat him, even with an army. I saw him turn the viddasala to stone without moving a muscle. With that sort of power, conventional victory seems impossible.”

“What was it you said? Dealing with the unexpected has become our trademark?”

Oscar smiled.

“True enough,” he said. “And this certainly qualifies as unexpected.”

The group gathered closer around the table as Harding and Leliana outlined their discoveries via their agents. They had already diverted some of their people north to take up positions throughout the Imperium. To Oscar’s surprise, Harding herself indicated she would be joining them.

“You’re headed to Tevinter as well?” said Oscar with a grin. “Maker. There’ll be no one left in the South at this rate.”

“You’ll have to come round for tea,” said Dorian, who had been quiet for a while.

“Count on it,” said Harding brightly, before returning to her maps.

Oscar glanced over his shoulder at Dorian, whose eyes flicked to the dagger stabbed through the heart of his homeland, before looking back at Oscar, an eyebrow raised.

“Something on your mind?” said Oscar.

“Well, I can’t say I’m delighted by the prospect of an ancient elven god turning up on my doorstep with a personal army of elves,” said Dorian. “As though we don’t have enough to worry about with the Qunari.”

“I doubt Solas intends to wage war on the Imperium,” said Oscar. “It’s most likely that he’s looking for some sort of ancient magic.”

“True,” said Dorian. “Though most of that sort of knowledge is locked away, and accessible only to magisters, or the most senior enchanters of the Circles. Unless he attempts to take it by force.”

“We will have to make sure we have people stationed near such repositories,“ said Leliana, who had been listening. “I’m sure your circles have elven slaves working in them that the mages hardly notice, yes?”

“They do,” admitted Dorian.

“Any of them could become agents for Solas, especially if they believe their position will be improved by working for him.”

“Wonderful,” said Dorian, folding his arms. “Blood mages, corrupt politicians, Qunari, and now this.”

Harding made a note on a scrap of parchment.

“I’ll get some people on it,” she said. “Preferably not elves,” she said, after a pause.

“We can’t just start distrusting all elves on sight,” said Oscar. “It’s not as though all elves are going to be supportive of Solas destroying the world.”

“That is probably not what he is telling them,” said Leliana. “As you say, even the most downtrodden of the elves would probably not support such an ... extreme goal. It is far more likely that he is dangling freedom and status in front of them – something the elves of Thedas have not had for millennia.” She exchanged a look with Harding. “We are monitoring the situation.”

“Keep me informed,” said Oscar. “Is there anything else we need to discuss?”

“Not at this time,” said Leliana. “It’s likely we won’t all be together again for a long time. Before we go our separate ways, let me just say that I wish you all the best of luck on whatever paths you are choosing to walk. May you all go with the Maker’s blessing.”

Oscar blinked. The discussion had felt just like it had when they’d been back at Haven, when the Inquisition was still in its infancy. He’d almost forgotten Leliana was Divine, now.

For a moment, he had almost felt useful again.

He and Cassandra murmured responses to Leliana’s benediction, and the group headed for the door.

They retired to Leliana’s private apartment, and shared good wine and platters of food brought by servants. As the sky darkened, the long curtains by the windows fluttered in the evening breeze.

Oscar, relaxed and sleepy after the long day, started as he saw a dark shape dart from one side of the window frame to the other. He glanced over at Leliana, who was looking in the same direction, though her expression hadn’t changed.

Oscar’s heart sped up. He wasn’t worried about the four of them – they were unarmed, but Cassandra, Leliana and Harding were able fighters, and technically Dorian was always armed…

To have to rely on others to defend him hurt more than he’d thought it would.

“You can come in,” said Leliana to the room at large. “No need to lurk on the balcony.”

The dark shape let out an _ugh_ of frustration, and stepped out from behind the curtain.

“Sera!” said Oscar. “What are you doing here?”

“Visiting, stupid,” she said, hugging him tightly around the shoulders.

“Visiting, or eavesdropping?” said Leliana.

“Bit of both,” said Sera, dropping heavily onto one of the ornate sofas. “S’the best way to find out things. Also wanted to surprise you. Your faces!” She laughed as she leaned forward to grab a handful of cheese cubes.

“I shall have to have a word with my guards,” said Leliana lightly. Sera smirked for a second, before her expression darkened.

“You knew!” she said thickly, around a mouthful of cheese.

“Perhaps,” said Leliana, with an enigmatic smile.

“Have you been in the city long?” said Oscar.

“Few days,” said Sera, tearing off a hunk of bread. “Went back to Skyhold for a bit while you were off.”

“How are things there?”

“Quiet,” said Sera. “Like ghosts everywhere. Had fun, but – didn’t want to stick around too long. Lots of people leaving.”

Oscar couldn’t help but feel sad about it, even as he knew it was for the best. Skyhold had been a good home to him, and he had been happy there. Not to mention it had been his first home with Dorian. Their years living together in his light, airy quarters were among his happiest memories.

Talk turned to the remaining folks at Skyhold, and the logistics of ensuring everyone got home safely. Oscar glanced at Dorian out of the corner of his eye. He had intended for them to spend this last evening together, sharing a private meal. It was dark already, but not yet too late – perhaps he could still make apologies and get away, if only the others would stop talking…

At a brief lull in conversation, Dorian, who had been uncharacteristically quiet all day, abruptly stood up.

“Sorry to cut this short,” he said. “But I’m afraid I must steal our former Inquisitor away.”

“There’s wine not drunk, and you’re leaving?” said Sera.

“Bizarre, I know, but I have an early start in the morning,” said Dorian.

Oscar’s heart sank at the reminder. He’d been trying to put it out of his mind all day, busying himself with the business at hand, but now their final hours together were upon him, and he wasn’t ready.

Not that he would ever be ready.

“Of course,” said Leliana, her tone sympathetic. “We should not have kept you so long.”

“It’s quite alright,” said Dorian, though his tone indicated otherwise.

They shook hands with the others, and Oscar tailed behind Dorian as he strode along behind the servant showing them back to their quarters.

“I know the way, thank you,” said Dorian, and the man stopped dead, letting Dorian and Oscar whip past him.

They finally arrived back at the private rooms Leliana had provided for them, to find yet another servant, turning down the sheets.

“Out,” said Dorian sharply. The servant fled.

“What was all – "

Oscar didn’t get a chance to finish speaking as suddenly, Dorian cradled his face in both of his hands and kissed him. Oscar relaxed into the kiss, only for Dorian to pull back and start tugging at his formal jacket.

“We only have a few more hours together, _amatus_ ,” he said, dropping the blue sash to the floor. “I hardly wanted to spend them discussing every minor detail of your former soldiers’ routes through the Frostbacks.”

Oscar smiled. “I was about to suggest we leave myself,” he said. He assisted as best he could as Dorian divested him of his remaining clothing. Dorian's hands ghosted over his chest, sending a shiver up his spine.

"Go on," said Dorian, nodding towards the bed. "I'll just be a moment."

Oscar slid between the covers gratefully. The room was slightly chilly, the sheets cool, and he longed for the warmth of Dorian's form against him.

Dorian placed a leather pouch on the bedside table before divesting himself of his own clothes. Oscar watched him undress, an ache already growing in his chest when he thought of losing this.

He loved what they had together, the comfortable companionship that had grown between them to accompany the desire, the fun, the passion that had been there since the beginning. Starting and ending his days with Dorian had become such an intrinsic part of his life … he would manage, they both would, but the hole Dorian's absence would leave in his life would be a wound that would never truly heal.

Dorian turned, and Oscar was unable to banish the sadness from his face quickly enough. He saw the truth of it register in Dorian’s expression.

“Missing me already?” said Dorian, walking back to the bed.

"I -"

Oscar had intended to respond with a quip of his own, but the moment he opened his mouth his face crumpled. He pressed his hand over his eyes as Dorian clambered into the bed beside him, pulling him close.

Oscar hadn't wanted their last night together to be like this. He hadn't wanted to be falling apart in Dorian's arms, while his husband stroked the hair away from the back of his neck and murmured comforting words into his ear. He had wanted to take his time showing Dorian just how much he loved him, and how much he would miss him, not weep into his neck like a child.

"Sorry," he murmured into the warm skin.

"It's alright," said Dorian.

"No, it isn't," said Oscar, sitting up and wiping his eyes. "We have so little time. And _you're_ alright," he said. "I'm just - it's all just a bit much, I suppose." Dorian's eyes lowered.

"I am far from alright," he said. "And yes, it is a bit much."

They looked at each other for a long moment, before Dorian smiled at him encouragingly, stroking his fingers along Oscar's cheekbone. The sight of his smile lifted Oscar's spirits, as it always did. Every time Dorian smiled at him like this, Oscar could see every bit of love Dorian had for him in his face, shining out of him. He took a centering breath, and reached up to cup his husband's cheek.

"Come here," he said quietly, and pulled him close, capturing his lips.

Afterwards, sleepy and sated, Oscar twisted to rest his head on Dorian’s chest, listening to his slowing heartbeat, chest rising and falling as his breathing returned to normal. He felt Dorian’s fingers stroking through his hair, and grasped for his hand. Dorian’s touch was so comforting, his skin so warm, that Oscar felt his eyes drifting shut. A moment later, he felt the rustle of cloth, as Dorian attempted to pull the sheets over them.

He snapped his eyes open as he realised he was falling asleep, wanting this moment - this night - to never end. This would be the last time he fell asleep with Dorian beside him.

He sat up quickly at that thought, and met Dorian’s questioning gaze. The distress in his face must have been obvious, as Dorian raised the hand that wasn’t holding Oscar’s, and brushed the back of his knuckles along Oscar’s cheek.

“Something wrong?” he said, his voice a murmur. "You should get some sleep."

“I don’t want to,” said Oscar. “Soon I’ll have all the time I want to sleep, but tonight..."

“I know,” said Dorian after a pause. “Just a little longer, then.”

Oscar lowered his head again, his heart aching, desperately searching for the strength to be able to say goodbye to the man he loved in a few short hours. Dorian tightened his grip around him, and Oscar returned the gesture, holding him as best he could with his bad arm.

Tevinter would do its best to crush the kindness out of Dorian, to make him just like all the other magisters who valued power and position over compassion. The idea of him fighting alone in such a place – even if it were a place he loved – made Oscar’s heart ache.

He thought back to his wedding vows, and promised himself again at this moment to always be there for Dorian, when he were needed – to make sure Dorian never forgot how much he was loved and that he was never alone, even if it was just Oscar’s voice that would be with him.

Soon enough, his treacherous body got the better of him, and he was unable to stop himself from drifting off to sleep.


	7. I Choose The Mountain

_"And ever has it been known that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation." - Khalil Gibran_

 

Dorian awoke to see pale light filtering in between the cracks in the curtains. He shifted, and was immediately aware of Oscar’s warm bulk beside him.

They’d drifted apart slightly in the night, as they often did, but Oscar was still close, his curled fingers resting against Dorian’s side.

In a rush, realisation hit Dorian. It was morning, which meant –

It was time to leave.

He slid out of the bed, being careful not to wake Oscar, and moved quietly around the room, gathering his few things. He hadn’t brought much with him, and he packed the few items – mostly toiletries – into his small bag.

His onyx-handled shaving kit, which had been a gift from Oscar, slipped in his grasp and clanked loudly against something as it fell into the bag, and he reached in to pull out the bundle at the bottom, to ensure nothing had been damaged.

Inside a small roll of wrapped cloth were several sharp, silvery shards he’d shoved into his pack as they’d journeyed through the Darvaraad. Underneath that, a sheaf of notes he’d grabbed from the shattered library. He wrapped the shards more tightly in the cloth and carefully packed them back in the bag, along with the notes.

All his gear packed, he looked back at Oscar. He was still sleeping, his face relaxed and peaceful. Dorian knew he should wake him, but as soon as he did, he would have to face their goodbyes.

He decided to dress first. He knew he was putting it off, but he couldn’t quite face it yet.

Dressed and refreshed, he decided to take one last moment before waking Oscar. He quietly opened the balcony door and slipped outside, clicking it shut behind him.

The morning was cool and crisp, the sun not yet fully risen. Dorian regarded the grey light over the rooftops, taking none of it in.

His carriage was due to leave not long after sunrise. The moment he had been dreading since he had first read the letter from the Magisterium was finally upon him, and all he felt was a sense of cold emptiness in the pit of his stomach.

He had always hated goodbyes.

Dorian was not surprised when he heard the door open behind him.

“So here you are,” said Oscar. “You should have woken me.”

“I know, _amatus_ ,” said Dorian, his hands gripping the balcony’s railing. "I was about to. I was just taking some air.”

“I thought for a moment that you’d - “ Oscar paused. “But then I saw your bag.”

“You thought I’d just leave without waking you?”

“You _have_ always hated goodbyes,” said Oscar, one side of his mouth pulling up into that half-smile that Dorian loved so much.

Dorian couldn’t find a smile to return.

Oscar stepped forward and pulled Dorian back against him, his arm encircling his waist. The warmth of Oscar's body was heavenly against the cold morning air, and Dorian never wanted to move. 

“All packed?” Oscar said quietly.

“Yes."

“I’m glad we get to do this here,” said Oscar, a tremor appearing in his voice. “I can’t say I would have wanted to do it in public.”

“Do what?”

“Say goodbye.”

His voice threatened to tear Dorian’s heart out. He turned in Oscar’s embrace.

"Nonsense,” he said. “You only say goodbye to someone if you intend to never see them again. And we _will_ see each other again.”

Oscar nodded, his fingers toying with Dorian’s collar. Dorian could see in his face that he was trying very hard to hold himself together.

“Don't forget to call me,” Oscar choked out eventually, fingertips resting on Dorian’s locket.

“Of course I won't,” said Dorian. “You'll grow tired of my constant complaining about my idiot colleagues, I'm sure. And I expect to hear all the details of your marvellous new estate.”

“Perhaps you’ll see it, one day,” said Oscar.

“I don’t doubt it,” said Dorian. “And you shall see mine. Though I must warn you - by southern standards it might be considered somewhat excessive.”

“Surely not,” said Oscar, smiling again. Dorian rested his forehead against Oscar’s, before guiding his head to his shoulder. Oscar stroked his fingers along the always-straight line of hair at the nape of Dorian’s neck, until the sun had moved higher in the sky, turning the rooftops golden.

Oscar’s hand tangled into his hair, fingers moving across his scalp. Dorian took this last opportunity to breathe him in. His husband was still warm from sleep, and Dorian pressed his face into the crook of his neck, as Oscar rocked them back and forth. Eventually, the golden sunlight hitting their faces, Dorian knew the time had come.

“ _Amatus_ ,” he said reluctantly, shifting in Oscar’s embrace.

“Don’t,” said Oscar tightly. “Just – just one more moment.”

Dorian pulled back slightly to look him in the eye. Oscar’s expression was a mixture of resentfulness and sorrow.

“It’s time,” said Dorian, regret in his voice. “We can't put it off forever."

Oscar looked for a moment like he wanted to argue, but nodded, and straightened slightly, taking a deep breath. Dorian had seen him do this before - pushing down his emotions and appearing the confident leader the Inquisition had needed him to be. He was excellent at it, too.

“Then let me just say this,” said Oscar. “If ever you need anything, you need only to ask.”

“I know,” said Dorian, his eyes filling.

“And – I will miss you. Every day.”

“Naturally,” said Dorian.

“I am so proud of you,” said Oscar. “I know you’re going to do great things. And I’ll be with you every step of the way. Don’t forget.”

“Maker’s breath,” said Dorian, wiping at his eyes with the back of his fingers. “Even Varric couldn’t write something so soppy.”

“What can I say?” said Oscar. “My mother always said I was too sentimental for my own good.”

“And _my_ mother always said one shouldn’t mock the afflicted,” said Dorian. “So I’ll stop. But – yes, this is no goodbye. Merely … until next time.”

“Come, then,” said Oscar, taking his hand. “Your journey awaits.”

Dorian nodded wordlessly.

When they arrived at the plaza, the carriage was already waiting, the driver pacing up and down in front of it, smoking a long-handled pipe with his arms folded. A hooded figure - Leliana's agent, Dorian supposed - stood inconspicuously near the other side of the carriage.

A small group were gathered nearby. Leliana's hat, visible from a great distance, was their first clue as to who it was.

"What are you all doing here?" said Dorian to them, as they approached.

"Good question," said Sera, her hair even more askew than usual. "It's the middle of the frigging night!"

"Seeing you off, of course," said Harding. "So - safe travels, Magister. Don't forget that tea invite." She winked at him, and he smiled back.

"Farewell, Dorian," said Cassandra, reaching out a hand. "I never thought I would say this - but I hope we meet again, some day."

Dorian shook her hand, smiling, before moving along to Leliana.

"Good luck with it all," he said to her. "Changing rules won't be as difficult as changing hearts, or minds."

"Something we both know only too well," she said. "And if you have any trouble with assassins, let me know," she continued, a twinkle in her eye. "I know people."

"I might say the same thing to you," said Dorian.

"Indeed," said Leliana. "I take all these attempts on my life as a sign that I'm doing the right thing. Right is not always popular."

"I'll have to remember that, when the assassins come calling," said Dorian.

"Stay in touch," she said. "Maker go with you."

Sera was leaning against one of the carriage wheels. She straightened as Dorian approached.

"Here," she said, before he could say anything. She handed him a small parcel, roughly wrapped in brown paper and tied with red string. The string had about fifty knots in it.

Dorian started to pull at the string when Sera grabbed his arm.

"Not here," she said. "You'll get all - _sniffy_."

Slightly puzzled, Dorian nodded, and reached in through the carriage's open door to place the parcel on the seat.

"Now before you say something stupid like -"

Sera didn't get a chance to finish her sentence as Dorian hugged her. After a moment of shock, she hugged him back fiercely, arms clamped around his waist.

"I do believe you’re crying," he said, extricating himself from the hug.

"No," she said, letting out a loud sniff. "Shut up. I told you, it's _early_. I'm tired. My eyes water when I'm tired. Like when I have to get up at piss o'clock."

"But of course," said Dorian with a grin. "My apologies."

"Yeah, well," she said. "Just - don't go all - like _them_ , when you're back there. Keep being _you_."

"Why in the world would I wish to be anyone else?"

Sera snorted.

"We'll make sure he's alright," she said, jerking her head toward where Oscar was standing. Dorian's expression softened.

"I - thank you," he said. "I appreciate it."

"So you should," she said. "Stupid to go at all, leaving the best things behind for the worst things."

"Entirely stupid."

"Well, go then, if you're going," said Sera.

"Do write, won't you?" said Dorian. "I'll miss your charming turn of phrase so much otherwise."

"I might," she said. "If I get bored."

"To boredom, then," he said.

"Yeah, yeah," she said. "Go smooch hubby, so he doesn't stand there looking like a wet summersday."

She moved away towards where the others were gathered. Oscar, who had been standing a small distance away, moved to his side.

"Right," said Dorian briskly. "Goodbyes said, presents received. Just a passionate farewell kiss to go, and I can be on my way."

"That's where I come in, then?" said Oscar.

"I certainly hope so," said Dorian. "I'm very fond of our friends, but I can't say I would want any of them fulfilling _that_ particular role."

Oscar sighed dramatically.

"Oh, very well," he said, before stepping forward and kissing him, his arm wrapping around Dorian's waist to pull him closer.

The kiss lingered, neither wanting it to end. Dorian caressed the soft strands of Oscar's hair one last time, before reluctantly breaking away to look into his husband's downcast grey eyes.

"We'll speak soon," he said. "Very soon, most likely - I get bored easily."

"I'm well aware," said Oscar, his voice cracked, forcing a smile.

Dorian fiercely embraced him once more, breathing him in, before pressing a kiss to his cheek and finally climbing into the carriage. While he had known this day was coming for weeks, it suddenly felt like everything was happening too fast.

Oscar closed the door as the driver muttered "finally," and took his seat. Leliana's agent climbed up beside him.

Dorian rested his hands on the window frame, and Oscar covered one of them with his as they met each other's eyes, and the desperate sadness within.

"Safe travels," said Oscar quickly. "And - be careful. And - "

The carriage suddenly jolted forward as the driver roused the horses, and Dorian's hand was pulled away from under Oscar's.

"I love you!" Oscar called, as the carriage pulled away.

"And I you," Dorian called back, leaning out of the window. "Try not to tear any more holes in the sky!"

Oscar laughed through his tears, and kept waving as the carriage got smaller and smaller. He didn't notice that the others had come up behind him until he felt Sera's hand on his shoulder.

He stood, watching, until the carriage rounded a distant corner and was out of sight, and Dorian was gone.

 

*          *          *

 

In the carriage, once Oscar was no longer visible, Dorian slumped back into the seat. He felt drained, as though all the energy had been sucked out of his body. His head ached from holding back tears, and he just wanted to sleep. Or perhaps have a drink.

Glancing around the carriage, he spotted the parcel Sera had given him before he'd left. Curiosity immediately piqued, he grabbed it and started working on the many knots.

He'd unpicked two when impatience got the better of him and he pinched the string between two fingers, burning through it in an instant.

Inside was a simple, wooden picture frame, face down. Dorian turned it over, and had to press his hand over his mouth to keep back a sob.

Sera's portrait of Oscar was perfect in its likeness, from his gentle smile to the fine scar running through his lip and down to his chin. Even the always-slightly-too-long hair looked as soft as Dorian knew it felt.

He gripped this treasure, this impossibly perfect gift to his chest, and vowed to send Sera the biggest, fanciest hamper of Tevinter sweets he could find as soon as he got home.

The carriage continued along the road that would take him east to Cumberland, and then a new carriage would start the journey north along the Imperial Highway. Despite his grief at leaving Oscar behind, he couldn't help but feel a seed of determination unfurl in his gut. It was the same feeling he'd had when he had decided to come south after Alexius, and it had led him to the Inquisition, and to Oscar. He only hoped his new path would be as successful. This was his chance to do things for his country he'd never imagined having the opportunity to do, and he swore to himself he would give it his all. He had given up everything to do this - now he would need to make it worth that sacrifice.

Looking down at the portrait in his hands once more, he took a deep breath, and set his sights on the road home.


	8. The Far Cliffs of Kirkwall

 

 

> _Some things in life cannot be fixed. They can only be carried._
> 
>             _[Everything Doesn’t Happen For A Reason — Tim Lawrence]_

 

Oscar arrived in Kirkwall one late afternoon, nearly two weeks after Dorian had left Val Royeaux. He stepped out of his carriage to find the city shrouded in steel-grey fog. He had received a letter from Varric while still in Val Royeaux, instructing him to head to the Viscount's Keep as soon as he arrived. His bags, he was assured by the driver, would be delivered to his new home, and so he headed in the direction of the Keep.

The carriage had deposited him on the outskirts of Hightown, which was the only part of the city Oscar was familiar with. He had visited Kirkwall quite a few times with his family, but they had never ventured out of Hightown. Maxwell had told him tales of when he snuck out to go drinking in Lowtown, but given Varric's descriptions of what it was truly like, Oscar doubted he had actually done so.

The journey from Val Royeaux had been uneventful, and lonely. Sera had headed back to Skyhold for a while to visit Dagna, and nobody else had been heading his way. He'd remained for a while after seeing Dorian off, visiting a few shops and signing the last few pieces of paperwork regarding Inquisition business. Eventually, he had bid Leliana and the others farewell, and set off for Kirkwall.

He passed through the Hightown market, which had expanded significantly since his last visit here, no doubt thanks to Varric's trade deals. The marketplace was bustling and busy, with traders calling out to him from every stall. Passing through, he headed up some stairs, and found himself in front of the huge Keep, the entrance flanked by enormous, imposing crow statues. Varric had certainly moved up in the world, he thought to himself, given that he'd said his previous residence was a tavern in Lowtown.

The outer guard were expecting him, and admitted him to the main hall, where he was directed up to the Viscount's office. Outside were a throng of nobles, Varric's seneschal in their midst. Oscar stood off to the side, until Bran glanced around and spotted him.

"Oh," said Bran, an audible sigh in his voice. "It's _you_. A moment."

He swept away into Varric's office, and returned a moment later.

"If you would step this way," he said to Oscar.

"Now just a moment," blustered one of the nobles. "He just arrived, and he gets shown straight in? I've been waiting all day."

"The – _Comte_ ,” said Bran with distaste, "is here on vital business. Or so I am told." He gestured into the office, and Oscar walked in. Bran closed the door behind him, mercifully shutting out the noise of the nobles outside.

Varric rose from his chair and walked around his desk.

"Andraste's ass, am I glad to see you," he said, shaking Oscar's hand. "You might be able to give me a moment's peace from these damned nobles."

"There _are_ an awful lot of them," said Oscar. "What do they want?"

"Remember all those Orlesians who used to hang around in the Great Hall at Skyhold because they thought it might give them a chance to talk to you? Or even if it didn't, they could say they were regulars in your hall? Well, that's not unique to the Inquisition, as it turns out." He shook his head. "It's hardly anything new - some of them have been making a hobby of hanging around here all day for years. I'd ask if they don't have anything better to do, but - I think most of them genuinely don't." He pointed Oscar to a chair in front of his desk, and the two sat.

"Nice crown, by the way," smirked Oscar.

"Ugh," said Varric. "Since the last Viscount was beheaded, I'm hoping this is a new one, and not the one they peeled off his head after it bounced down the stairs, and rolled around on the ground for a while."

"Lovely image."

"Yeah, well, I was actually there, so the images are stuck in my mind forever, thank you. Oh, and speaking of rolling around on the ground, how was the honeymoon?"

Oscar rolled his eyes.

"It was wonderful, thank you," he said. 

"Glad to hear it," said Varric. "Did Sparkler get off home okay?"

"Yes," said Oscar. "He's probably halfway there by now."

"Well, good," said Varric. "If anywhere needs someone to sort its shit out ..."

"Like you're doing here?" said Oscar.

"Sure," said Varric wryly. "Maybe he and I can compare notes." He rummaged around on his desk.

"Anyway," he said. "Your new estate. I've had some people go in and spruce it up, so it's all ready for you - there's not a whole lot of furniture; the old stuff was kind of rotten, and I thought you'd probably want to get some stuff yourself. But there's a bed, so you won't have to sleep on the floor or anything."

"Good to know," said Oscar.

"The place used to belong to a friend of mine," he said. "It's been sitting empty for years - I got in touch with him, asked him if he was coming back, and his reply was - well, the basic message was 'hell no'. So it passed back to the city. Bran wanted to sell it, but - well, what good is being Viscount if I can't do something for my friends every now and then?"

"If the city needs the coin, I could always buy it - "

"No way," said Varric. "It's yours. Consider it official thanks from the people of Kirkwall for saving us all from the Breach. And Corypheus. And the Qunari. And the Red Templars. Oh, and I guess the -"

"Alright, alright," said Oscar, laughing. "I'm truly grateful. Thank you."

"No problem," said Varric. "In return, maybe you can let me hang out at yours when I'm trying to escape my so-called assistants."

"Any time," said Oscar.

"It's not far from here," said Varric. "A few streets away, just past where the new Chantry will be."

"It's not completed yet?"

"Oh, no, it's going to be a while longer yet," said Varric. "This isn't Tevinter, we don't raise all our buildings with blood magic. We have to do it the old fashioned way - hard labour. The Chantry got a ton of donations after the explosion, and then the war, but they've had to use most of that for basics - food, shelter, potions and so on. A huge-ass, golden statue of Andraste wasn’t exactly high on the list of essentials. But it's coming along."

They spoke for a while longer, until Varric could no longer put off his next appointment. He introduced Oscar to a smiling woman called Terri. Terri, he informed Oscar, had been born and bred in Kirkwall, and would be able to help him settle into his new estate, and stay with him for a time while he established himself. Varric promised to meet Oscar for drinks soon, and then returned to his many appointments as Oscar and Terri left. 

She led him from the Keep back into Hightown, chattering away about where the best places were to eat, where he could buy furniture pieces or art for his new home, who his neighbours were, and a whole host of other things that Oscar barely had time to process before she was on to the next thing.

They had just reached the top of a flight of stairs when Terri stopped.

"Here we are!" she said. "Home sweet home!"

The building in front of Oscar was part of a row of neat mansions in this part of the city. The front, Terri told him, had been cleaned and cleared of ivy, and a new door fitted, the old one having been partly hacked apart by mercenaries.

Turning the shiny key in the equally shiny lock, Oscar walked into his new home.

Almost an hour later, he dropped into one of the few chairs in the mansion, exhausted. He’d been walking from room to room since he had arrived, and was still not sure he’d found them all. Varric had been telling the truth – it _was_ a lovely house, but seemed almost comically huge for just one person. Still, he thought to himself as he tried to remember just how many bedrooms there were – at least he would have plenty of space for when his friends came to stay.

 _Or Dorian_ , he couldn’t help but think, berating himself a moment later for the thought. There was every chance Dorian would never even _see_ this house, and he’d certainly never live here. That hadn’t stopped Oscar from mentally slotting him in as he’d walked around, thinking about which would be the best room for Dorian’s study, or how much he would love the immense wine cellars beneath the estate. There was even room for a library.

The room he was in now was empty, like most of the others, except for a chair and small table next to the fireplace. No staff had been hired yet, but Terri was to stay on as a housekeeper of sorts until they were.

Already, the list of things he would need to do seemed overwhelming, and Oscar slouched lower in his chair.

The hearth was cold, and not for the first time, Oscar missed Dorian, who would have lit it with a simple twitch of his fingers. Coming from his traditionalist family, he could never have imagined magic coming to be something so central, and _normal,_ in his life.

He glanced once more around the empty room before heaving himself out of the chair and heading outside.

A short time later he was sitting at a small table in the corner of _The Seven Helms_ , one of Hightown’s more decent taverns. The name came from the seven battered helmets mounted behind the bar - the tales behind the origins of these helmets seemed to grow wilder and more outrageous as the years went by.

Nursing a large tankard of ale, Oscar looked around at the art adorning the walls, attempting to ignore the glances stolen in his direction. Everyone in the streets, and now in the tavern, seemed utterly fascinated by his missing arm. This was a city accustomed to battle; surely they had seen such injuries before? He considered it more likely, though, that the rumours claiming that the fabled Herald of Andraste was coming to live in the city had reached the peoples’ ears.

Word of his lost arm had spread fast after the Exalted Council, thanks to the assemblage of nobles there – some were sympathetic, and assumed someone wishing to usurp his power had cut it off. Others thought he had cut it off himself, no longer wanting to burden himself with the Anchor. He had heard whispers that he was an ingrate for throwing away the gift that the Maker’s bride had bestowed on him.

Oscar ignored them, staring morosely into his ale. Somehow, he had imagined his arrival in Kirkwall would be different - he hadn't expected a fanfare, but neither had he been expecting to be sitting alone in a tavern, with the eyes of the entire place on him.

He wondered what Dorian was doing. It was late - perhaps he was sleeping? Or maybe reading? He thought about calling him, but he would need to leave the tavern to do that - if he started talking to himself, he'd attract even more stares than he already was.

After a while, he began to realise that he'd probably had too much to drink. The room swam, and as he rose to leave, he found walking in a straight line a far greater challenge than usual. Heading across the tavern, his hip bumped a nearby table, sending ale sloshing over the edges of the tankards atop it.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"One too many, son?" said one of the men whose drinks he'd spilled. "Or does missing an arm make it harder to balance?"

His friends broke into raucous laughter, and Oscar, stung, resumed his path to the door.

Once outside, he had hoped the night air would clear his head, but it seemed to be doing the opposite. The walk home seemed a great deal longer than the walk to the tavern had been, until he glanced up at the Viscount's Keep in front of him and realised he had gone entirely the wrong way.

By the time he made it back to his own estate, it was very late indeed. He collapsed, face first, onto the bed, before fishing out his locket from under his clothes, and fumbling it open.

"Dorian?" he slurred into it. "You there?"

There was no reply. He was probably asleep, either nodded off against the side of his carriage or in an upstairs room at a tavern somewhere. Either way, Oscar mused, a nice, comfy bed in Kirkwall - with him - would have been much better.

What was so great about bloody Tevinter, anyway, he thought to himself, as he snapped the locket closed.

Willing the room to stop spinning, he drifted into a restless sleep.

Oscar awoke the next morning with a sour stomach and a throbbing head. Squinting in displeasure at the sunlight streaming in, he yanked the curtains closed and then fell back into bed.

He awoke again later to a knock on his door. His head felt better, but he still felt disoriented.

"My Lord," Terri called from outside. "Viscount Tethras is here to see you."

Oscar cursed internally. He must look a state, and he felt even worse.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "I'll - be down in a moment."

The only mirror he had was a tiny one in his pack, which he pulled out, peering at himself. Bloodshot eyes stared back, and he took in the two days' worth of stubble and dark circles under his eyes with a sigh. Nothing to be done for it now.

He ran a comb through his bedhair, and headed down to see Varric.

As though he had known Oscar would be in total disarray, Varric was dressed unusually smartly, in a tailored velvet coat and finely embroidered shirt, open nearly to the waist as usual. Oscar didn't miss the raised eyebrow as Varric took in his dishevelled appearance, but he covered it almost immediately.

"My Lord Comte," he said, feigning a bow. "I was on my way back from a meeting at the Merchant's Guild, and thought I'd stop by to see how you were settling in."

"Oh," said Oscar. "Thank you. I'm - settling in well, so far. It's only my first day, after all."

"True," said Varric. "I've given Terri a list of people who should be available to come work for you - you might want to give it a look. You'll need the help in a place this size."

"I will," said Oscar.

"And you should head to the markets to find furniture and all that - no doubt half the merchants will be falling over themselves to give you a good deal, so they can say they sold their wares to the Herald of Andraste."

"Okay," said Oscar. "I'll go today."

"It might be a little late today," said Varric, looking at him quizzically.

"Why?" said Oscar. "What time is it?"

"Almost seven bells," said Varric. "Some merchants'll still be trading, but most'll be heading home for dinner about now."

"Oh," said Oscar. "I - must have lost track of time." Varric looked at him appraisingly.

"You okay?" he said.

"Of course," said Oscar, a little too quickly. "Perhaps you'd like to stay for a quick game of Wicked Grace? Or dinner?"

Varric's expression became amused.

"Do you actually _have_ any food?" he said.

"Well, not as such," admitted Oscar. "Perhaps we could go out to eat?"

"I'd love to," said Varric. "But I have a dinner this evening with the visiting Antivan ambassador. I'd invite you, but - he's very distrustful of strangers after one too many assassination attempts. It was a miracle he agreed to come here at all, frankly."

"Fair enough," said Oscar, crestfallen.

"Believe me," said Varric, "I'd much rather be spending the evening with you than His Ambassadorship - but you know how it is."

"I do," said Oscar, who knew better than most.

Varric left, his entourage trailing after him, and Oscar wandered back into the main hall, only to see Terri struggling with an enormous box.

"A delivery from Lord and Lady Harimann," she said. "Your neighbours," she added by way of explanation, at Oscar's confused expression. She placed the box carefully on the table, and Oscar opened it.

Inside was a vast selection of ornate cakes and pastries, a mixture of fruit, chocolate, nuts, dense sponges, light mousses... Oscar had not eaten for nearly an entire day, and looking at the rows and rows of cakes, suddenly realised how hungry he was.

"Help yourself," he said to Terri, and selected a large slice of walnut cake for himself.

By the time he had polished off the walnut cake, two eclairs, a strawberry tart and a wedge of Antivan mud cake, Oscar was starting to feel slightly sick. Terri had lit the fire, and he was staring morosely into its depths when the crystal around his neck vibrated subtly against his chest. It had only been just over a week since they had separated, and the sensation still made Oscar jump each time.

"Dorian?" he said, snapping open the locket.

" _Amatus_ ," said Dorian. "I hope this isn't a bad time?"

 _Because my schedule is so jam-packed_ , thought Oscar bitterly.

"No, of course not," he said. "How are you?"

"Fine," said Dorian. "We've stopped for the night at a tavern, so I thought I'd take the chance to call. And take a bath. Maker, it's good to be out of the carriage." Oscar heard a light splashing in the background.

"Wait," he said. "Are you bathing _now_?"

"Of course," said Dorian. "Two birds with one stone, and all that."

Oscar's cheeks went slightly pink at the idea of Dorian calling him from his bath.

"That's a marvellous mental image, I must say," he said, smiling wistfully. "So how's the journey going?"

"We're making excellent time," said Dorian. "Almost halfway already."

"Already?" said Oscar. "That's remarkable."

"We start early, and travel well into the night," he said. "We didn't even stop last night - I slept in the carriage, can you believe. Well, if you could call it sleep, which I certainly would not."

Oscar let his eyes drift shut, Dorian's voice washing over him.

" _Amatus_?" said Dorian eventually. "Are you still there?"

"Mmm," said Oscar. "Of course. Sorry, I didn't sleep very well last night."

"Too much excitement regarding your new home?"

Oscar recalled his previous night, sitting in the dark quiet of the mansion before escaping to the tavern.

"Something like that," he said. He hesitated. He wanted to tell Dorian about how miserable he was here without him, about how empty and silent the house was without his husband by his side, but something stopped him. Dorian sounded happy, and excited about his upcoming journey and what lay beyond. They'd only been apart for a week, after all - perhaps Oscar just needed more time to adjust.

Clearly, Dorian was doing a much better job of it than he was.

"Are you sure everything's alright?" said Dorian.

"I told you, I'm fine," said Oscar, a little more sharply than he'd intended.

"Alright," said Dorian mildly. "I was just making sure, seeing as I'm not there to check up on you in person."

"I'm well aware," mumbled Oscar, as Dorian's splashes got louder.

"Sorry, I didn't quite catch that," said Dorian. "Lost the soap."

"Nothing."

"Ah," said Dorian, and Oscar heard something like disappointment in his voice. "So, what are your plans for the evening?"

_Stare into the fire for a few hours and then roll into bed at dawn?_

_Drink myself into a stupor at the tavern?_

_Eat the rest of the cakes until I develop a blinding headache?_

"Not much," he said eventually.

"You do sound tired," said Dorian, concern in his voice. "And you said you hadn't slept well. Why don't you get an early night?"

"I will," lied Oscar.

"See that you do," said Dorian. "No doubt you'll have sweet dreams of me in my bath."

Despite himself, one side of Oscar's mouth pulled up in a smile.

"No doubt," he agreed.

"I'll let you go, then," said Dorian. "Speak again tomorrow?"

"Of course," said Oscar. "Enjoy your bath," he added.

"Oh, I am," said Dorian. "The only way I could enjoy it more is if you were in it, too."

This time, Oscar couldn't find a smile.

"Yes," he said. "Me too."

"Goodnight, then, _amatus_."

"Goodnight," said Oscar, and snapped the crystal shut.

Somehow, he felt even worse than he had before their talk. Usually, the sound of Dorian's voice was a comfort, a balm even on the worst days, but now he just felt small, cold and alone.

He picked at the box of cakes for a while longer, in front of the dying fire, before dragging himself back to his bed.

Over the next little while, Oscar failed spectacularly to furnish his house, or acquire staff. He hd been wandering around the market and had impulse bought a painting he liked, and some of the simpler Orlesian cushions, but since they had been delivered they had remained in a pile next to the front door. He didn't seem to be able to make a decision about where to put the painting, and he realised he didn't have anywhere _to_ put the cushions, what with only one bed.

He remained in the house most of the time, despite its lack of amenities, poking at the fire, taking a walk around the empty rooms from time to time. He kept finding new parts of the house that he had missed during his first walkthrough, including an intriguing trapdoor that he couldn't open.

Part of the reason he stayed in so much was because dressing was so difficult, particularly getting his boots on and off. He hadn't had to manage alone since he had lost his arm, and although Terri had offered to help him, he was uncomfortable letting her. It had been bad enough letting Dorian do it, let alone a stranger. She took, and returned, his laundry, but he struggled alone with actually dressing. Grooming was a little easier, but shaving seemed pointless given he was at home most of the time, so he didn't bother.

After a few days, he ended up buying some ordinary shoes from the market, that he could get his feet into and out of without using his hands - though this didn't make him any more keen to get out and about.

Terri suggested an excursion, and after days of her cajoling Oscar finally agreed, so they headed out to the coast near the city. Oscar actually enjoyed the day out, watching the waves crash into the cliffs below, white spume spraying over the wrecks of ships. The smell of salt stayed in his hair for days.

Dorian still called each day. He had finally arrived in Tevinter, and was ecstatically telling Oscar how happy he was to have a real (and enormous) bed, decent food, and good wine at his disposal. Oscar listened, agreeing where he thought Dorian would want him to, and while the biggest part of him was pleased about his husband's joy, he couldn't help the bitterness that swelled in him about how settled Dorian seemed.

By the sounds of it, Dorian had almost immediately been caught up in intrigue with his new Lucerni party. He returned from their meetings filled with optimistic zeal about their work, and as Oscar was his best friend as well as his husband, he called him to relate every happening.

Oscar did want to hear it all, but having no news of his own to share was a source of embarrassment - not that it gave him any particular impetus to actually fill his days with anything. He began making up the days's happenings, talking about the furniture dealers he'd visited, the parties he'd attended, the people he'd met.

The truth was, many days went by when Terri was the only person he saw. Varric was swamped with huge amounts of work, but promised he and Oscar would catch up properly soon. He received letters from friends, most notably Sera who wrote multiple times a week, but had not gotten around to responding to any of them yet.

Dorian called one evening, and informed him that the next day, there would be a ceremony to induct him formally into the Magisterium.

"Dreadfully serious affair," he said. "I've never actually seen it - outsiders aren't permitted to observe - but from what I hear, the lights are dimmed, and every Magister calls a light to his or her staff. It's apparently quite a sight. Supposed to represent us being the leading lights of the Imperium, or some such. It's been the same ceremony for thousands of years." He paused. "Would you like to - listen in?"

"I thought you said outsiders weren't permitted to observe?" said Oscar.

"Well, technically you won't actually be _observing_ anything," pointed out Dorian truthfully.

The next morning, Oscar hauled himself out of bed at a far earlier hour than he had become accustomed to, and shut himself away in the study, his locket open on the desk in front of him.

He listened as the ceremony proceeded. Vows were recited, in both Common and Tevene, which Dorian then repeated, his voice ringing like a bell.

Oscar's heart swelled with pride as he listened to him. Soon enough, it was done, and Dorian closed his locket, severing the connection.

Oscar couldn't help the feeling of sadness that threatened to overwhelm him. It was official, now - Dorian was truly a Magister. Despite how proud he was of him, this ceremony had cemented their separation. Dorian was truly part of his new life, now, the vows just as binding as his wedding vows had been.

As soon as Dorian was alone, he called Oscar back.

"Congratulations, love," said Oscar.

"Thank you," said Dorian, but he didn't sound as happy as Oscar might have expected.

"What is it?" he said. Dorian sighed.

"I never wanted this," he said. "And now it's ... real. I suppose it hadn't really sunk in until now."

Oscar's eyebrows rose. He hadn't imagined Dorian was feeling the same way he was, with how excitedly he'd been speaking about being home.

"I was thinking the same thing, earlier," he admitted.

"Of course you were," said Dorian. "Who else knows me like you do?"

"No," said Oscar. "I mean, that's how _I_ felt. I hadn't realised you felt the same way."

"Of course I do," said Dorian. "I told you I didn't want to leave you. I didn't. But - this was my chance, probably the only one I would ever have had, to truly make a difference in my homeland. If I had let it go, I would have regretted it forever."

"I know," said Oscar, rubbing his forehead. "And, for what it's worth - I'm proud of you."

"I haven't actually done anything yet," said Dorian. Oscar could hear the smile in his voice. "I'll ask you again in a few months' time how proud you are."

"Even more so, I'm sure," said Oscar.

"I wouldn't speak too soon," laughed Dorian. "I'm proud of you, too," he added. "Making a go of your new life, and all. Not that I ever expected otherwise."

Shame, hot and heavy, closed Oscar's throat. The urge to confess everything, to tell Dorian just what a colossal mess he was making of his life since moving to Kirkwall, was almost impossible to ignore.

But today was Dorian's special day - and Oscar also didn't think he could bear the weight of Dorian's disappointment right now.

"I - thank you," he said. "It's been an interesting few months."

"You can say that again," said Dorian.

They spoke for a short time longer before Dorian had to head off to his induction party, and once he was gone, Oscar rested his head against the desktop, letting his eyes close. 


	9. Long Way Down

Life settled into a depressingly familiar routine over the next little while. Oscar slept late, and still spent most of his days haunting his estate. Terri was now unable to convince him to go on walks, and he arranged to have food delivered from the market in the continuing absence of a cook.

Dorian, as the newest member of the Magisterium, had a great deal to prove, and had thrown himself into work. He still called regularly, usually daily, but his calls were often shorter, as he was always rushing off to dinner parties, debates or meetings.

Oscar had not yet risen for the day when he heard voices in the foyer downstairs. Curious, he scrambled out of bed, and listened at the door. He could hear Terri's voice, but did not recognise the visitor she was speaking with. Moments later, she knocked at his door, and he opened it a crack.

"Yes?" he said.

"Pardon me, my Lord," she said. "But you have a visitor. He came with a letter for you."

Oscar accepted the letter, and tore it open. 

 

>   _Little brother_ ,
> 
> _Father thought you might be in need of some help in your new digs, so I thought you might like to see a familiar face. I'm sure you remember Severin._

 

Oscar's mouth fell open as his eyes passed over the name. He continued reading.

 

> _Congratulations on the marriage, by the way. I wish I had some talent at drawing, as Mother and Father's expressions when they read your letter should have been captured for posterity. Alas, you will simply have to use your imagination._
> 
> _Severin will stay with you as long as you have need of him._
> 
> _All the best,_
> 
> _Maxwell_

 

Eyes widening in alarm, Oscar tore out onto the balcony, and stopped dead when he saw the familiar dark head examining the painting still sitting on the floor. Almost as though sensing his presence, the elf turned to look up at him, long hair whipping around his shoulders.

Eyebrows raising slightly as he took in Oscar's beard and unkempt hair, Severin walked towards him.

"Alright?" he said, deep voice echoing in the huge, empty entrance hall. "It's been a while."

Oscar stared dumbly at the elf for a moment, in utter shock, before he was able to reply.

"What are you doing here?" he blurted out.

"You read the letter?" said Severin, indicating the crumpled paper in Oscar's hand. "Max thought you might need some help." He glanced around the empty hall, clearly believing Oscar's brother had been quite right.

"He should have asked me first," said Oscar crossly. "You needn't have made a wasted journey."

"Wasted journey?" said Severin.

"Yes," said Oscar. "I'm fine, thank you. I'm in no need of help."

"You've got staff, then?" said the elf. "Terri said she was here on her own."

Oscar felt a stab of guilt. He _had_ been relying on Terri for everything since he'd moved in.

"Not yet," he said. "It's on my to-do list."

"Well, until then," said Severin, "perhaps _she_ could use the help, even if you don't need it?"

Oscar's jaw tightened. Severin had him, and he knew it.

"Fine," he said. "Just until I get staff of my own. Then I'm sure Max will need you back."

"Sure," said Severin mildly. He never had been very chatty, Oscar recalled.

"Right, well," said Oscar, shifting from one foot to the other. "Terri will be able to tell you where to put your things, and all that."

Severin nodded, and followed after Terri, who led him towards the servants' quarters. Oscar ducked back into his room and slammed the door, his heart pounding.

What was Max playing at, sending Severin here? Was he trying to make some kind of point, sending the elf after hearing about Oscar's marriage? Did his family want to spy on him? What would possess them to send Severin, of all people?

Oscar spent the rest of the day in his room, torn between tearing Maxwell a new one by letter, sending Severin packing, and getting extremely drunk. In the end he did none of the three, pacing up and down his large bedroom instead.

An invitation from Varric, who finally had a free evening, arrived in the late afternoon. Oscar, desperate to get away from Severin's presence and the oppressive walls of his bedroom, eagerly accepted, and after freshening up he headed over to the Keep, where he was shown into Varric's private rooms.

Varric had not yet arrived, but he was offered a seat by the fire and a glass of wine. Oscar relaxed into his chair, warming his feet and looking around at the fine tapestries adorning the walls. He'd already finished off a couple of glasses of Varric's excellent wine before the man himself appeared.

"Nice beard," said Varric by way of greeting. "So it's an intentional thing. And here I thought you'd just stopped giving a shit."

Oscar laughed, slightly nervously.

"Just thought I'd try something new," he said lamely.

"Right," said Varric. "Anyway, how have you been? Been buying up half of Kirkwall's furniture trade?"

"Not exactly," said Oscar. "I'm - still looking."

"Ah, being picky, are you? Someone's been around Sparkler too long." Varric sat down opposite Oscar, and raised his glass.

"Cheers," he said. They clinked goblets, and drank.

"So how is my fellow slave to politics?" said Varric.

"He's fine," said Oscar. "He let me listen in on some sort of ceremony. I can't say I understood it all, but it means he's an official Magister now."

"I'll send him a commiseratory fruit basket," said Varric wryly. "Poor bastard."

"Indeed," said Oscar.

"But otherwise, he's okay?"

"So he says," said Oscar with a shrug. "Sounds like he's happy to be home," he added, unable to completely keep the bitterness from his voice.

"Still, I'm sure he misses you," said Varric. "He couldn't stop talking about it when we had drinks at the Winter Palace - how much he'd missed you during his first little trip home."

"Really?" said Oscar in surprise. Dorian had told him he'd missed him, of course, but in his own way - _Minrathous is completely and utterly dull without you._  And of course, how hard Dorian had kissed him back when Oscar hadn't been able to bear it any longer and had pulled him into a room, away from the prying eyes of Lord Cyril and his ilk.

"Of course," said Varric. "Who knew Sparkler was such a softy? ...Well, everyone knows, but still. He's usually much better at hiding it. It must have been the wine."

"Must have been," said Oscar morosely.

"So," said Varric, attempting to change the subject. "Have you hired any staff yet? Or are you running poor Terri ragged?"

"Actually, someone just started today," said Oscar. "Though it certainly wasn't _my_  doing." The anger at Severin's sudden appearance surfaced again.

"Uh oh," said Varric. "What happened?"

"My brother sent one of his staff to assist me," spat Oscar.

"Oh," said Varric. "Isn't that ... a good thing?"

"You'd think," said Oscar. "But the elf he sent -"

He stopped, unsure of how much he wanted to tell Varric.

"Promise you won't put this in a book," he said, pointing at him.

"Cross my heart," said Varric.

"Alright," said Oscar. "The elf, Severin, we - have a history."

"Oh?" said Varric. "Oh," he said, realisation dawning as Oscar's cheeks reddened. "A _history_."

"Yes," said Oscar, beginning to wish he'd never brought it up. "But I should point out it was a long, long time ago."

"How long are we talking?"

"We were teenagers," said Oscar. "He'd just started working for my brother."

"So how did you two ..."

"Well, you know how it is," said Oscar awkwardly. "We were young, and we noticed each other ... and one thing led to another."

"Was it serious?"

"Not really," said Oscar, after consideration. "I mean, I liked him, obviously, but - we were never in love, or anything."

"What happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

"It just ... didn't work out," said Oscar, staring into his goblet of wine.

"Was it a mutual breakup, or - "

"No," said Oscar. "Shall we begin our game?"

Oscar dealt the cards, feeling a little lighter than he had in a while. Spending time with a friend helped his mood, and he felt a stab of guilt about not telling Dorian about his current problems. His stomach lurched as he realised he'd have to tell him about Severin. Maker, that would be an awkward conversation.

"Does Sparkler know about your new helper?" said Varric over his cards, seemingly reading Oscar's mind.

"Not yet," said Oscar glumly. "I mean, he knows about Severin, we talked about it years ago. But he doesn't know he's here now. Though, to be fair, _I_ didn't even know he was coming until he turned up on my doorstep."

"True," said Varric. "I'm sure he'll understand. It must be nice to have a familiar face helping you out."

"I don't know about that," said Oscar, conceding defeat as he laid his terrible cards on the table. "Another game?"

Oscar headed home after a few more games, and arriving back at his estate he found Severin in the main hallway, sorting through a delivery of food.

"Good evening?" he asked Oscar.

"Yes, thanks," said Oscar brusquely. "Where'd all this come from?"

"I ordered it," said Severin. "I can't cook with no food."

"We've been buying meals in," said Oscar.

"Because you didn't have a cook," said Severin. "And - you still don't, but I'll do it in the mean time. But please." He hefted a basket of potatoes. "Hire a cook."

"Fine," said Oscar. "If it'll get you out of my hair."

"Hungry?" asked Severin.

Oscar was starving.

"No," he said.

Severin smirked.

"What d'you fancy?" 

"Did you hear what I said?" 

"I did, and I also heard your stomach growling when you walked in. Sandwich?"

As if on cue, Oscar's stomach growled again.

"Alright," he said reluctantly. "Thank you," he added, sullen.

Severin nodded, and headed off to the kitchens.

Changed out of his day clothes, Oscar was sitting by the fire, empty plate beside him. He'd hoovered up the sandwich Severin had brought in moments, and was now staring sleepily into the flames.

His locket buzzed, and he clicked it open.

"Hello?" he said.

" _Amatus_ ," came Dorian's voice, low and quiet. "It's good to hear your voice."

"Likewise," said Oscar, smiling at his tone. "You sound cheerful."

"I am," said Dorian. "I've been at a terribly dull dinner party - but the wine was quite superb. The speeches were so long-winded, I was able to let my mind wander. And naturally, it wandered to you."

"I spent the evening with Varric," said Oscar. "He sends his best."

"Very kind of him," said Dorian. "But _Varric_ isn't who I want to be thinking about right now. I'm alone - ready for bed."

His voice was a low growl, and Oscar felt rather warm all of a sudden.

"Since I left," said Dorian. "Have you been ... thinking about me?"

Oscar swallowed.

"Of course," he said. "Every day."

"Good, good,' said Dorian breathily. "And what do you think - "

"Finished?" came Severin's voice suddenly, as he poked his head around the door.

"What?" said Oscar distractedly, covering the locket with his hand. Severin pointed to the sandwich plate. Oscar nodded mutely, and Severin collected it and left.

"Who was that?" said Dorian, his voice having lost the intimate tone of moments before, to Oscar's disappointment. "Did you finally hire staff?"

"Er," said Oscar. "Yes. Sort of."

"Sort of?" said Dorian, latching onto his hesitation at once.

"I didn't actually hire him," Oscar admitted. "He works for my brother - has done for years. My family sent him to help me out for a while."

"An excellent idea," said Dorian. "Did you know him before?"

"Er - well, yes," said Oscar. He hesitated. "Do - do you recall me mentioning Severin, the elf who looked after our horses?"

There was a silence.

"Oh," said Dorian eventually. "Yes, I recall. It's him, then?"

"Yes," said Oscar. "I didn't even know he was coming until he turned up. I'm still wondering if it was my brother's strange idea of a joke."

"Hilarious," said Dorian.

"Is - are you - alright?" said Oscar.

"Of course," said Dorian. "Shouldn't I be?"

"Of course," echoed Oscar. "I mean, you should."

They lapsed into silence.

"Well," said Dorian. "I should let you go. It's late, after all. I merely wanted to say hello."

"I'm glad," said Oscar. "I'll call you tomorrow."

"Good," said Dorian. "Until tomorrow, then." The light abruptly went out.

Oscar dropped the locket under his shirt again, and let his head thud back against the chair. Bloody Severin. Bloody Maxwell. Why couldn't they all just leave him alone?

He briefly considered calling Dorian back, uncomfortable with how their last conversation had gone, but he didn't want to disturb him again. He went to bed, his mind buzzing, and it took him a long time to fall asleep.

For the next few days, Oscar started to feel like a prisoner in his own home. Severin knocked on his door to bring him food, but after Oscar started ignoring him, he left the food outside the door for him. Oscar would wait for his footsteps to recede, and then grab the tray.

He called Dorian the day after their interrupted conversation, as he'd said he would, but his husband was just on his way to a meeting and couldn't talk for long. He called back later in the evening, and despite the topic of conversation being something totally inconsequential, they had ended up arguing.

That afternoon, Oscar donned his new shoes and decided to visit the new Chantry.

The building was still under construction - it was planned to be even bigger than the old one had been when it was finished, but for the time being was still a small, squat structure covered by enormous sheets of fabric. Still, the familiar smell of incense and the sound of the Chant pulled Oscar back to his childhood - to simpler times - and for a few moments, listening to the familiar words of the Chant wash over him, he found a kernel of peace within.

It didn't last long, however. Not long after he sat, he felt the eyes of the sisters upon him. Before long, whispers - amplified in the quiet - found his ears, and he glanced around. The sisters and other chantrygoers were staring at him, awed. No doubt they'd also heard that the Herald of Andraste himself now lived in Kirkwall.

He had not been able to bear their stares for long before he had fled.

Ordinarily, he would speak with Dorian about such concerns, and once back in his estate, cracked open his locket.

Dorian's rather terse reply was that he was just heading into an important debate, and would call him once it was over.

Oscar lay on his bed, staring up at the canopy, waiting for him to call back. Eventually, the crystal vibrated against his palm.

"Finished your debate at last?" he said, smiling.

"There were drinks after," said Dorian. "Some people rather wanted the debate to continue long after we'd left the Senate chamber. Though, knowing Magister Aldwen, he was just doing it to spend a little more time in my company. He's taken a shine to me, I think."

Oscar tried his best to ignore the stab of jealousy that lanced through him at these words.

"Well," he said. "At least you got away. Good debate?"

"Not really," said Dorian. "Pointless. A well-structured debate is always a decent enough way to spend an afternoon, but this was just circular argument piled upon circular argument. That's several hours of my life I shall never get back."

Oscar laughed lightly.

"You wanted to talk?" said Dorian.

"Oh," said Oscar. Suddenly, complaining about his mood felt self-indulgent. "It's not important."

Dorian's answering sigh was frustrated.

"You're doing it again," he said angrily. "Do you think I haven't noticed?"

"Doing what?" said Oscar, frowning at his confrontational tone.

"Lying to me."

"What?" said Oscar, sitting up. "I've never lied to you."

"I wanted to get you a gift," said Dorian. "A housewarming present. I wrote to your housekeeper to ask about the furniture you had, so I could get something to fit with your style. And she informed me you have the grand total of one bed, one table and a handful of chairs."

"So I haven't bought any furniture yet," said Oscar. "Perhaps I just haven't found anything I like."

"Oscar," said Dorian seriously. "You forget - I know you. I know you better than anyone. It isn't just the furniture - you haven't been yourself for a while. Something's wrong, isn't it? And you haven't been telling me."

Oscar felt tears well in his eyes.

"You're wrong," he said, hating how his voice cracked.

" _Amatus_ ," said Dorian, his voice softening. "Please. I'm worried. What's the matter?"

Oscar almost wanted to laugh. Where to begin?

_I'm lonely._

_I have no purpose here._

_My arm hurts._

_I can hardly dress myself._

_I'm ashamed._

_I hate sleeping alone._

_I can't fight any more._

_I don't know what to do._

_I miss you._

_I need you._

"I told you," he said furiously. "I'm fine."

"Alright," said Dorian, his voice clipped. "Have it your way. But if you do decide you want to talk about it -"

Oscar hauled himself off the bed and to his feet, striding around his bedroom, his breaths coming short and sharp as though he had been running.

"There is nothing to talk about," he spat angrily. "What do you know, anyway? You're hundreds of miles away. What do you know about my life now? How could you possibly understand? You've got your wonderful new life. Well done you." He swallowed around the lump in his throat.

"What am I supposed to do now?" he said. "I'm useless."

"You are not -"

"I am!" shouted Oscar. Hot tears were streaming down his cheeks now, the pain of the last few months finally finding an outlet. "I'm no bloody good to anyone, least of all you. You can't be seen with a crippled, southern barbarian, can you? Imagine what _that_ would do to Magister Pavus's glittering career."

"That is not true, and you know it," said Dorian, his voice shaking with barely-restrained anger. "Of course I -"

"Don't," said Oscar. "You made it quite clear how you felt, when you left me."

He snapped the locket shut, trembling with rage, and hurled it at the wall with a shout of anger.

The horrified realisation of what he had done hit him only a moment later, and he dove across the room to scoop the locket up from the floor.

Thankfully, both it and the crystal within were intact, and Oscar sank to the floor, cradling it to his chest.

Resting his forehead on his knees, he wept.


	10. Tyme Tryeth Troth

> _And so rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life._
> 
> _\- J.K. Rowling_

 

Oscar watched the dust motes floating in the shaft of light entering between his heavy curtains. He‘d get up to pull the curtains properly closed, but he couldn't seem to find the energy.

He had not spoken to Dorian since their fight a few days previously. Dorian had called the next day, the crystal vibrating on Oscar’s bedside table - but Oscar had been too ashamed of his previous words to answer, and had ignored it, before going back to sleep.

After his breakdown, Oscar found himself spending most of his time in bed, finding it difficult to stop tears from springing to his eyes. He didn’t exactly know why, but he was too humiliated to show his face outside his room. Terri had almost broken the door down to get him to answer, and eventually he had cracked open the door enough to accept the food she brought before slamming it shut again.

He knew the situation couldn't go on like this forever, but right now he didn't know what to do.

A knock at the door announced the presence of Terri, yet again.

"Yes?" he called sleepily.

"My Lord," came her muffled voice. "Some things have arrived from you. From someone called Sera."

Sufficiently intrigued, Oscar pulled on his robe and opened the door. Terri started back at his haggard, scruffy appearance.

"Some things?" he said.

"Yes, my Lord," she said. "Some boxes, and other items."

"Where are they now?"

"In the front hall, my Lord."

"Very well," he said. "I'll be down shortly."

She nodded, clearly relieved, and Oscar returned to his room to dress in his day clothes.

He appeared in the entrance hall a short time later to find a strange assortment of items piled in the middle of the floor - boxes, framed pictures, rolls, bags - but the item that stopped him short was the chair in the middle. The last time he had seen it, it had been occupying a particular corner of Skyhold's library. He stared at it, the ache of nostalgia pulling at him.

On top of the nearest box was a letter.

> _Hey you!_
> 
> _I put together your things since you've got a fancy place of your own now. Think some of hubby's stuff is in here too. And Josie thought you might like his old chair, since you're so soppy and all._
> 
> _Weird here now. Dead quiet. Everyone's leaving - don't know if we'll stick around much longer. I'll let you know._
> 
> _See if you can find some fun there for if we decide to come!_
> 
> _Sera_

Oscar looked back over the boxes and objects, before his eyes settled again on Dorian's chair.

"Thank you," he said to Terri, who was still standing nearby. "That'll be all."

The dismissal in his tone was obvious, and she nodded before disappearing back into the house.

Picking his way between the objects on the floor, Oscar made his way to the chair and sat down in it.

Perhaps he truly was losing his mind, but he could swear that even now, something of Dorian's scent still clung to it. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd arrived in the library to see Dorian occupying his usual corner, nose buried in a book. He was usually quite happy to be distracted, though - unless it was an especially good book.

Clutching the armrests tightly, Oscar felt a wave of shame at his angry words to Dorian, and pulled the crystal out from under his shirt, looking at it as it rested in his palm.

He wouldn't blame Dorian if he decided not to answer him, but he knew how kind and forgiving his husband was, and realised it was time to tell him the full truth. To Oscar, that truth was almost as shameful as his heated words during their argument, but he was done hiding things from Dorian. Doing so certainly hadn't helped either of them so far.

He opened the locket and held it in his palm, curling up further into Dorian's chair. He was about to snap it closed again, his heart sinking, when he heard a voice from within.

"Oscar?"

He almost wept with relief.

"I'm sorry," he blurted. "Dorian, I'm so, so sorry."

"Yes, well," said Dorian. "So you should be. Are you alright? I was worried when you didn't answer my calls. I thought you'd gone off to do something foolish. I’d already begun letters to Varric and your housekeeper."

"I'm - " He was about to say he was fine, but the words wouldn't come.

"No," he began. "I'm not alright."

Once he started talking, he found it difficult to stop. He told Dorian about all of it - his loneliness, his frustration at not being able to care for himself, his difficulty adjusting to having one arm, his fear about no longer being able to fight, his isolation because of the people's stares, his feelings of emptiness, all of it. As he spoke, his voice began to crack, unable to keep the emotions of the last few days at bay.

Finally he stopped, his knuckles white as he gripped the arm of the chair.

Dorian was silent for a while.

"Oh, my darling," he said gently. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I don't know," said Oscar. "I was ashamed, I suppose. You were embracing your new life, doing amazing things, and I felt like I was falling apart without you."

"You have nothing to be ashamed of," said Dorian firmly. "After what you went through, anyone would have trouble adjusting. And as for me 'embracing my new life' - " He sighed.

"I've been filling my days with as many meetings and engagements as I can, because - when it's quiet, and I'm alone - " His voice became small. "I can hardly bear it."

Oscar's heart twisted.

"You didn't say anything about that, either,' he said.

"I know, _amatus_ ," said Dorian, and Oscar thrilled at the sound of the word. "I apologise. It seems we both kept too much to ourselves."

"Yes," said Oscar. "I suppose it's too easy to hide things, when we're not together."

"Indeed," said Dorian. "Though I should have realised things were amiss."

"Nonsense," said Oscar, leaning his head against the winged back of the chair. "You weren't to know."

“I keep thinking about our wedding,” said Dorian quietly. “In my vows, I promised to talk, and to listen. I’ve not been doing a fantastic job of either. A fine start to our marriage.”

“I didn’t think it would be this difficult,” admitted Oscar.

“Nor I – not that it’s any excuse."

“Perhaps,” said Oscar. “But – I understand why you kept quiet, since I did the same.”

"Why didn't the people living with you do anything?" said Dorian crossly. "Your housekeeper, or your elf?"

"He's not _my_ elf," said Oscar. "And I think they just believe I enjoy my own company, so they leave me alone. Anyway, Terri noticed. And Severin keeps making me food, even when I say I don’t want it."

"Well, good," said Dorian. "But don't think I won't be keeping an eye on you from now on – figuratively speaking, of course."

A while back, this might have brought Oscar's hackles up, but now, he smiled.

"Oh, very well," he sighed. "If you must."

"Absolutely," said Dorian. He paused.

"Oscar," he said, somewhat hesitantly. "Since we're being honest - what you said, when we argued. I know you were angry, but - did you mean it? About my abandoning you for the sake of my career?"

Oscar flinched. He had looked into Dorian’s eyes on their wedding day and seen all the love he had for Dorian reflected back at him. He knew that his husband was the kindest, cleverest and most loving person he had ever known - and his comments, while admittedly made in the heat of anger, had been unfair.

"No," said Oscar miserably. "Of course not. I lashed out because I was hurting, but that's no excuse. I know you far better than that - and I hope you'll forgive me."

"Always, _amatus_ ," said Dorian warmly. "I have my reasons for coming here alone, as I told you, but I can assure you that my reputation is not one of them."

"I know, love."

"Well, I'm glad," said Dorian. "The entire Magisterium already believes I seduced you for power - the last thing I need is you believing I left you for the same."

Oscar smiled wryly.

"So am I forgiven?" he said.

"I suppose so," said Dorian. "Though I really think you should make it up to me the next time we see each other."

"Gladly," said Oscar, failing to stifle a yawn.

"Tired?" said Dorian.

"Almost always, these days," said Oscar, rubbing a hand over his face. "Maker, I'm a bloody mess," he said. "You should see the beard I have now."

"What?" said Dorian in shock. "You've grown a beard?"

"I didn't set out to, but - yes, I confess I've let my grooming go somewhat unattended."

"Sweet Maker," said Dorian. "I'll admit, I'm curious as to what it looks like."

"Perhaps I'll keep it until Sera visits, and she can draw you a picture," Oscar suggested, yawning again.

"Excellent idea," said Dorian. "Now, get to bed."

"Maybe I'll sleep here," said Oscar. "You'll never guess where I am."

"Where?"

"Your old chair from Skyhold," said Oscar, stroking the fabric. "Sera had it sent on to me."

"And not to me? How rude."

"I expected she thought it wouldn't exactly go with Tevinter decor," said Oscar.

"She'd be quite right," said Dorian. "Which is exactly why I'd want it."

"You can have it, if you like," said Oscar.

"No, no," said Dorian. "Keep it. Though don't think I won't claim it when I visit."

"You think you'll visit?" said Oscar hopefully.

"Of course," said Dorian, taken aback. "At some point. Did you think we'd never see each other again, _amatus_?"

"It feels like it, sometimes," admitted Oscar.

"I know," said Dorian. "But we will. Of course we will."

"Alright," said Oscar, unfolding himself from the chair. "I'm heading to bed. Don't go, though."

"Very well," said Dorian.

"What are you doing this evening?" said Oscar, plodding up the stairs.

"I've a quiet evening planned," said Dorian. "In all honesty, I was going to try calling you again - as many times as it took for you to stop being stubborn and answer me."

Oscar chuckled as he closed his bedroom door. Terri had clearly been in while he and Dorian had been talking; the bed had fresh sheets, the sconces on the wall were lit, and the various plates he'd accumulated had vanished.

"Says the most stubborn man in Thedas," he said, working on removing his shirt. The rustling obviously carried through the crystal.

"Oooh," said Dorian eagerly. "Are you undressing?"

"Maybe,” said Oscar.

"I have to say, it's not often I think to myself, 'I wish I was in Kirkwall'. But right now ..." He tailed off, his tone leaving no doubt as to exactly what he wished he could be doing.

Oscar pulled on his nightshirt and slid into bed.

"I wish you were in Kirkwall, too," he said. "I'm glad we talked," he added. "I'll admit - I do feel better, now you know."

"Likewise," said Dorian. "I'm sorry you felt so alone. As your husband, I feel especially bad. You know you can call any time, _amatus -_ my life here is far from uneventful, but there would never be a time when I wouldn't be happy to hear your voice."

"Same here," said Oscar with a smile. "My sleeping patterns have been all over the place anyway - so if you want to call me in the small hours, go ahead."

"I might just," said Dorian. "I have an idea - I've been invited to a symphony tomorrow night. You love music - as long as you keep quiet, I see no reason why you shouldn't listen in. The orchestra is world-renowned."

"I'd love to," said Oscar, struggling to keep his eyelids open.

"Then it's a date," said Dorian. "Well, I should let you -"

"Don't go," mumbled Oscar. "I've missed the sound of your voice."

"As you wish," said Dorian, sounding amused.

"Oh, and Dorian?" said Oscar.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry you were feeling sad as well, and I didn't notice," he said. "I guess I was too wrapped up in my own problems."

"Not at all," said Dorian. "I am an exceptional actor, when I want to be." He paused. "I wanted you to be proud of me, I suppose."

"I am," said Oscar. "Always. And - I suppose I felt the same."

"We're quite a pair."

"Indeed." Oscar snuggled into his pillow.

" _Amatus_?"

"Mmm?" said Oscar, barely awake.

"I'm proud of you too."

Oscar murmured his thanks as he drifted off to sleep, the crystal glowing on the pillow beside him.

The next morning, Oscar awoke feeling better than he had in a while. He opened the curtains, dressed and went down for breakfast, enjoying the expression of shock on Severin's face.

That day, he finally chose a spot for the painting that had been sitting by the door for weeks, and hung it.

He had Dorian's chair brought to his study, and that evening he sat in it, by the fire, and listened to the music of the Minrathous symphony wash over him. Dorian had been quite right - the orchestra was superb, and the beautiful music lifted his spirits. Something about knowing he and Dorian were listening to the same performance helped him feel closer to his husband.

The next day, a rare sunny day in Kirkwall, he headed out into his garden, which he'd barely seen since his arrival. It was beautiful but somewhat overgrown, and he spent some time pulling weeds - it took a little longer than he'd have liked with one arm, but it was good to be doing something active again.

He was hot and sticky by the time he headed back indoors later on, and Terri arranged a bath for him. Now he was out of his room more, he was getting to know her better, and found that she was a kind and generous woman who genuinely wanted to help. She seemed delighted to see him feeling better, and immediately began suggesting things he might like to do or see in the city. He agreed to join her on one of her nature rambles the next day.

Sitting in his bath, a mischievous thought occurred to him, and he clicked open his omnipresent locket.

When he got out of the bath, sometime later, his cheeks were pink from things other than the heat of the water.

He and Dorian spoke daily, now. Oscar had not anticipated quite how difficult the distance would be - neither of them had - but the key, it seemed, was for them to keep communicating. Even on the bad days, when one or the other was irritable and cross-tempered, they still made the effort to talk - and found that, more often than not, their spirits were lifted by the end of it.

Being separated also made honesty all the more important, and while it would never be the same, sharing the minutiae of their respective days helped them get through the worst of it. Things that Oscar thought would bore Dorian ended up being of great interest to his husband, and the fact that someone genuinely cared about even the inconsequential parts of his life was a great boost to Oscar.

Similarly, as the pressure on Dorian increased, enemies seemingly lurking in every shadow, Oscar was glad to be there to support him, murmuring reassurances when Dorian revealed just how difficult and dangerous his new role was proving to be. Oscar worried, and these daily talks helped ease that a little, though never entirely banished the fear that came with such dangerous territory.

Oscar’s darker thoughts hadn’t entirely receded, but the crushing weight he’d been carrying seemed to have lightened.

One evening, he bought a bottle of honey mead, the kind he used to drink as a teenager back in Ostwick, and invited Severin to share it with him.

“What’s the occasion?” said Severin with a slightly raised eyebrow, as Oscar pointed him into the chair opposite his.

“Do we need one?” said Oscar, filling his tankard.

“Suppose not,” said Severin. He sat, looking Oscar over. “You look better.”

"That might be because I am better."

"Good to know," said Severin, swilling the liquid in his cup. "So - what happened, then?" he asked, with his typical bluntness.

Oscar considered for a moment before replying.

"Everything happened," he said quietly. He glanced up to meet Severin's gaze.

"Oh, you know how it is," he continued off-handedly, waving his goblet in the air. "One minute you're Inquisitor, armies at your command, adventuring all over Thedas, the man you love at your side - and the next you're living alone in Kirkwall with one chair, one arm and no purpose.”

"Well, when you put it like that," said Severin. "Anyone would want to stay in bed for a while."

"Still," said Oscar. "I could have dealt with it better. I should have told someone, I just - couldn't bring myself to."

"Not even your husband?"

Oscar paused, cup halfway to his lips, before taking a sip.

"Especially him," he said. "I didn't want to disappoint him, I suppose."

"If he loved you, he wouldn't be disappointed, would he?" said Severin.

"He does love me," said Oscar, slightly irritably. "And I know that now. It was just - difficult, with the distance between us." He shrugged. "I suppose it was a matter of pride, as well - no one wants to admit to someone that they've fallen apart without them, even if it is someone you love. Not that it was just because he left, it was everything else too."

"It must be difficult, only being able to communicate by letter," said Severin.

Oscar regarded him for a moment, unable to tell if Severin knew something - had perhaps heard him talking to Dorian - or if he was simply passing comment. He had always found the elf's inscrutable expression frustrating.

"Yes," he said eventually. If Severin didn’t know, Oscar preferred to keep it that way, for now at least.

“Surprised he left at a time like that,” said Severin. “With everything that happened to you.”

“He put off returning to stay with me for as long as he could,” said Oscar.

“Still,” said Severin, taking a sip.

“He didn’t _want_ to leave,” said Oscar. “He just – had to.”

“Mmhmm,” said Severin. "So now what?"

Grateful for the change in topic, Oscar glanced around the room.

"Well, this is a rather nice estate,” he said. “About time I started getting some things to fill it.”

“And a cook,” said Severin, refilling their goblets.

'Tired of cooking already?"

"Yes," said Severin without preamble. "Might be good at it, doesn't mean I want to do it all the time."

"I suppose I have been..."

"Taking the piss?"

Oscar threw him a level look.

"I suppose so," he said.

"Nah, not really," said Severin. "We all need to tell the world to go fuck itself sometimes."

"Do we?" said Oscar, one eyebrow quirked.

"’Course," said Severin. "I've done it a few times."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," said Severin. "After I left my clan, when I got to Wycome. And after we broke up."

Oscar's expression became one of genuine surprise.

"Oh," he blurted out. “I - I didn't think you were too bothered, at the time."

"You went off squiring," said Severin with a shrug. "By the time you got back, I'd pulled my head out of my arse."

"You never said," said Oscar quietly.

"Didn't seem much point," said Severin. "It was my fault, anyway. No sense in reopening old wounds."

Oscar, cheeks slightly pink from the mead, leaned forward.

"I know it was a long time ago, but I'm not sure I understand," he said. "I thought - I thought you were just - "

"Leading you on?"

"Something like that."

"Yeah, well," said Severin. He looked away from Oscar's gaze for a moment. "Maybe I just realised what a shit I'd been."

"You were young," said Oscar.

"I was still a shit," said Severin.

"Perhaps," said Oscar, smiling slightly. "How are things now, anyway? Still enjoying working for Max?" he continued, keen to change the subject.

Severin shrugged. "Yeah, it's not bad. He's got me doing a few different things now and then. Did some messenger stuff for him for a while."

"Messenger stuff?"

"Delivering letters and that," said Severin. "I suggested it. Good to take the horses out myself for a change."

"Wanted to get away for a while?"

"…Yeah."

"I can understand that," said Oscar.

"Yeah, you always wanted your great adventure, didn't you?" said Severin, refilling his cup again. He poured the last few drops into Oscar's goblet. "All those books about - what was it, knights and pirates and stuff?"

"Yes," said Oscar with a chuckle. "Though I can't say _my_ adventure turned out quite how my teenage self would have imagined."

"Better, or worse?" said Severin.

Oscar considered. He thought of Corypheus, of the Breach, of the vast armies of undead and demons they’d faced. He thought of sitting on a rooftop with Sera, and the games of Wicked Grace in the tavern. He thought of the agony the Anchor had caused him, and the knowledge of what was to come. He thought of the living nightmare of walking in the Fade. He thought of the years of happiness and companionship, and dancing on his wedding day.

"Different," he said eventually, with a soft smile. "Do you think you'll ever leave Max's service?"

Severin shrugged.

"He's been good to me," he said. "But yeah, I've been thinking about it."

"You have? Where would you go?"

"Dunno," said Severin. "That’s why I haven't gone anywhere yet. But if something comes up - then maybe." He drained the last of the mead from his cup. "Not a lot of opportunities for elves outside of servitude."

"I don't know,” said Oscar with a smile. "Sera is certainly no one's servant. Neither is Varric's friend, Merrill."

“They got lucky."

“I wouldn't say that," said Oscar. "They both chose their paths, and walked them even if it made their lives more difficult. Varric told me Merrill would have been her clan's Keeper one day, but she felt what she needed to do was more important, so she left."

"Good for her," said Severin sulkily.

"You can't complain about your situation if you don't even try to change it,” said Oscar.

"Funny," said Severin. "I seem to remember that's exactly what you did."

Oscar had forgotten that Severin could be a mean drunk.

"Perhaps," he said. "When I was young. Waiting for my adventure to find me instead of going out to find it." He finished off his drink. "In fairness, it _did_ find me, though it taught me what a coward I'd been before. After everything that happened, I realised that if I could just be a little more brave, if I just ... reached out for what I wanted, instead of staying silent - I could be happier than I had ever imagined."

Oscar felt his cheeks go pink as he stopped talking. He was aware of his tendency to ramble on when he'd had a drink, and sank back into his chair, looking into the fire.

"Very inspirational," said Severin. "We're not still talking about adventure, though, are we?"

Oscar laughed.

"Not really," he said. "But seriously. If you find something you want to do, go for it. I know you've got a good thing going back home, but - you deserve to be happy, not just comfortable."

"Do I?" said Severin.

Oscar blinked, taken aback.

"Of course," he said. "Everyone does."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Severin caustically. 

"You should," said Oscar. "Well, I suppose I should turn in."

"Me too," said Severin. "Thanks for the drinks."

"Any time,” said Oscar. "I'm - glad we had a chat, actually. It's been a long time coming."

"Yeah," said Severin. He hesitated.

"You've changed," he said after a moment.

"I suppose I have," agreed Oscar. "For the better, I hope?" he added with a grin.

"We'll have to see, won’t we?" said Severin, rising.

"We will," said Oscar warmly. "Goodnight, then."

“’Night," said Severin.

As Severin headed back to the servant's quarters, Oscar thought about the elf’s words from earlier on. He hadn't realised Severin had been so upset by their break-up - it _had_ been his idea, after all, and he had seemed perfectly fine when Oscar had seen him next, despite the inevitable residual awkwardness between them.

Even though he had put the whole debacle behind him long ago, Oscar couldn't help but feel a small stab of satisfaction at the fact Severin had felt guilty about what he'd done. At the time, Oscar had thought Severin hadn't cared at all, which had only compounded his humiliation. To know that it had eaten at the elf as well was oddly comforting.

Abandoning the glasses and empty bottle, Oscar headed to bed.

A few days later, Oscar received another letter from Sera, informing him that she and Dagna had had enough of the increasingly deserted Skyhold, and asking if Kirkwall was any more fun?

Intriguingly, attached to the back was a sketch from Dagna - of an elaborate prosthetic arm, with straps attached. Apparently, she'd been mulling over a few ideas, which she wanted to talk to him about when she arrived.

Thrilled at the idea that his friends might be joining him, Oscar immediately tasked Terri with preparing a guest room for them until they found somewhere of their own, and wrote back straight away. He also started replying to the other correspondence he'd neglected during the last few months.

In the drawer he'd shoved the letters into, he also found his leather journal. Oscar had kept a detailed journal since he'd been a boy, but in the last few months had dropped out of the habit. Pulling out the notebook now, he flicked to the last page he'd written, and drew a line under it.

It was time for a new entry.

 

*          *          *

 

Oscar had been ignoring Varric's invitations for a while, and while they had continued to come, their frequency had lessened. Oscar decided to drop by to visit him, having not heard from him for a while - even though Oscar had not replied, it was unlike Varric to stop writing.

Bran ushered him in with minimal eye-rolling, and Varric glanced up, his expression shocked. He jumped up, and shook Oscar's hand warmly.

He looked exhausted, and it took little questioning from Oscar for him to admit the extent to which the nobles were running him ragged. Concerned, Oscar shared a pot of tea with him and asked him about it. He couldn’t help but feel guilty - while he'd been lying in bed for weeks on end, his friend had been under more and more pressure, with no end in sight.

A lot of it seemed to be Varric's popularity working against him - being not only Viscount, but also a best-selling author and a personal friend to both the Champion of the city and the Herald of Andraste, made Varric the biggest celebrity the city had seen for a long time. Every noble wanted his attention, even for the most minor of trifles, and he barely had time to do anything else after speaking with them all.

Hearing this, Oscar offered to address some of them. He still wasn't fond of the attention, but he _was_ used to it, and if speaking with some of the nobility would take the heat off Varric, it was hardly a huge sacrifice. Varric seemed relieved, and Oscar was pleased to be able to help. It appeared to work to their mutual benefit.

With some of the pressure alleviated, Varric was finally up to hosting one of his game nights, and Oscar was the first person he invited. He'd also invited some of his other friends for the evening, and introduced Oscar to the captain of the city guard and her husband. Oscar particularly liked Donnic - he had a calm, measured air about him, and a subtle sense of humour.

An elven friend of Varric's, Merrill, had also joined them - he recalled reading about her in _The Tale of the Champion_ , but realised now that surely Varric must have made a lot of it up for effect - the sweet, wide-eyed woman in front of him, who was examining a vase of flowers on Varric's table with rapt fascination, could not possibly be a blood mage.

Earlier, Dorian had asked Oscar if he could speak to Varric himself, so Oscar had unhooked the crystal from around his neck and passed it to the dwarf, before returning to the group.

 

*          *          *

 

"I can hear him laughing," said Dorian fondly. "I've missed that sound."

"He's winning," said Varric. "That'll make anyone laugh."

"How's he doing?" said Dorian. “Honestly.”

"He's alright," said Varric. "Keeping himself busy - that seems to be his way of coping. He's been helping me out a lot, actually, with wrangling the nobles."

"No better person for it."

"I'm just surprised he wants to be involved in politics again, after everything," said Varric. He sighed. "I think he just wants to feel useful again, to he honest. He's been at a bit of a loose end since he got here."

"I know," said Dorian with an answering sigh. "Thank you for looking out for him."

"He's done the same for me," said Varric. "He misses you, of course."

“Of course,” said Dorian. "I miss him, too. But I think things are improving, finally."

"I think you may be right," said Varric, watching Oscar laugh at one of Donnic's jokes.

"So, Sparkler," he said. "Any words of advice when it comes to dealing with politics?”

"Oh, Varric," said Dorian expansively. "You are speaking to an expert. Do you have a pen and paper handy?"

"Always," said Varric with a grin.


	11. Noblesse Oblige

_**Two Years Later**  (9:46 Dragon)_

 

Oscar watched Sera's bottom point further into the air, as she rummaged deeper in the enormous wicker basket currently sitting in front of his fireplace.

"Ooh!" she said, emerging triumphant. "Nice!" She waved a box of chocolate-covered candied figs at him.

Oscar made a face. He liked chocolate enough, but couldn't stand dried figs, or dates ... Dorian had shared a box of candied dates he'd acquired from Varric with him once, and at Oscar's expression of distaste on biting into one, had called him a philistine and kept the rest for himself.

Since Dorian had arrived back in Tevinter, nearly two years ago, he would on occasion send Oscar 'care packages', filled to the brim with items like fine wines and spirits, teas, any foodstuffs that would survive the journey, sweets, trinkets and items he thought would be of interest, and the occasional accessory or item of clothing.

The sweets usually went Sera's way. Oscar did not have quite the sweet tooth that Sera and Dorian did, and Oscar had long suspected Dorian included the boxes of sweets and fat slabs of chocolate for her benefit. He usually ended up with the dark, fine chocolate, not sweet enough for Sera’s tastes, which suited him just fine.

Sera had gone quiet, which was always a cause for concern. After a moment, she let out a long, snorting laugh.

"Think this is for you," she said, handing Oscar a letter from the depths of the hamper.

Oscar unfolded the letter as Sera removed more items and spread them across the floor.

> _Amatus,_
> 
> _A few items I thought you might enjoy – some you might want to pass on. I recall you mentioned your current journal was getting full – no doubt with pages of lustful thoughts about me. It seemed only fair that I provide you with more pages in which to wax lyrical about my many virtues._
> 
> _I’ve already told you all that’s been happening here recently, so I shan’t repeat myself - not just to spare myself the ink, but also because I don’t have the time. Over the past few weeks we’ve been concentrating our efforts, as I’ve been telling you – and while it’s been paying off, it’s meant a great deal of time spent attending meetings, parties, banquets … I know, it sounds such a terrible hardship, but if you knew the people I have to make small talk with at these things – well, I’m sure you recall my tirade about Magister Kells and her opinions on educating (or, more accurately, not educating) the soporati, so I won’t bore you further here._
> 
> _While I’ve already told you this myself as well, it bears repeating that you are missed. Terribly. Especially at night._
> 
> _Give my best to Varric, Sera et al. Oh, and do tell Sera that if she’s having trouble thinking of a good Wintersend gift for me, an updated portrait of your good self wouldn’t go amiss. Two years is far, far too long to go without seeing your face._
> 
> _Dorian_
> 
> _P.S. Don't drink the liqueur on an empty stomach if you value your innards._  

Oscar read the letter, smiling, making a mental note to place it in the wooden box where he kept the others. Although he and Dorian spoke on an almost daily basis, they were still in the habit of writing actual letters to each other on occasion. Both enjoyed the physical act of writing, and although he would never admit it, Oscar knew Dorian was sentimental enough to want to send something tangible from time to time.

Oscar certainly was. He especially loved receiving Dorian's letters because his husband was in the habit of doodling around the edges - but these were no ordinary doodles. Scribbled arcane glyphs, patterns, sketches of bits of Tevinter buildings, sometimes people - when Dorian had mentioned his hair was longer ( "longer than yours the last time I saw you. I'm a disgrace!"), Oscar had expressed his sadness that he no longer knew exactly what he looked like. A little while later, he had received a short letter from Dorian, with a scribbled self-portrait underneath. Dorian wasn't quite as adept with lifelike portraits as Sera was, but the stylised, sweeping lines of his hair and clothing were unmistakably him. Oscar had kept that letter on his desk rather than stored away with the others.

Since they were in constant contact and didn't need to exchange news through these letters, they also used them to convey more private, personal feelings - not that they were embarrassed to voice them, but there was something indescribably intimate about committing such things to paper, and holding them in their hands. 

"I'll take these then, yeah?" said Sera, drawing his attention away from the letter.

"Of course," said Oscar.

"Think everything else is for you," she said, the boxes of sweets tucked under one arm. "See you later at the Croft?"

“Mhmm," said Oscar, whose gaze had flickered back down to his letter. Sera laughed, and he dimly heard the door slam as she left.

After he had reread it once more, Oscar looked through the items Dorian had sent this time - wine, naturally, and a bottle of some dark-coloured spirit that Dorian had mentioned in his letter. There was also an especially fine scarf in deep red, his favourite colour.

Oscar had mentioned to Dorian that the weather in Kirkwall was turning unusually cold for the time of year - he already owned several scarves, but still, the gesture was appreciated. And he _was_ very fond of scarves.

His favourite item this time was a beautifully bound leather journal, the cover tooled with intricate knotwork designs. He was about halfway through his current one, so he would need it soon.

Now the hamper’s contents had been fully examined, it was time for Oscar to begin his day. He climbed back up the stairs, somewhat wishing he could just go back to bed rather than have to tackle the immensely long to-do list waiting for him. He liked to keep busy, but the list seemed to be endless these days.

He dressed in between picking at a plate of fruit and bread, mentally adding _visit tailor_ to the list. He'd bought a few pieces of clothing recently that he wanted to get altered, so they'd be easier to get on and off. He managed well with most of his clothes now, having found a tailor in Kirkwall who was excellent at modifying them for his needs - her ingenious fastenings and designs had proven popular among the rest of Kirkwall's population, including Oscar's fellow nobles, who jumped at the chance to get their hands on any designs made exclusively for the famous Herald of Andraste.

Oscar had inadvertently started a fashion trend.

Last to go on was his arm. As he was simply running errands today, the ordinary one would do. Covered by leather gloves that went past the elbow, at a glance it looked like a perfectly normal arm. Functionally it was useless, but it gave Oscar a boost when he looked in the mirror.

Once dressed, straps and buckles of his prosthetic in place, he located his notebook and flicked to the list. He sighed at the first item.

> _Letters - Josephine, Lord Harclair_

He and Josephine were still spending time wrapping up the Inquisition’s affairs. She had returned to Antiva, but they still kept in regular contact, tying up loose ends. They were currently attempting to resolve the particularly thorny issue of where the Inquisition’s collected treasures should be housed. They’d had offers from archaeologists and historians all over Thedas, and Professor Kenric in Orlais had even suggested setting up a museum dedicated to the Inquisition’s discoveries. Josephine believed every artifact should be returned to its rightful home, but Oscar countered that some of these artifacts had passed through so many lands, and had had so many owners, that their origins could be in dispute for years.

They had had no volunteers to take on the project of sorting every item, though Oscar had had some interest from a Chantry curator in Denerim. In the mean time, he and Josephine had to continually answer demands from almost every nation in Thedas.

Oscar also quite liked the idea of an Inquisition museum, though he had not told Josephine that just yet.

Lord Harclair was another matter. Oscar had noticed that Varric’s considerable patience was wearing thin when he had visited for a night of cards, and had somehow ended up agreeing to speak with Harclair on the Viscount’s behalf.

Harclair was insistent that Varric hear out his claims for the estate that backed on to his family’s – he declared that the other house, currently occupied by the desRosiers, was originally part of _his_ family’s estate and should still be, and that the desRosiers had originally been squatters.

Oscar had zero experience with property law, and was fairly certain the matter should have been dealt with by the city’s magistrates, but Varric had had a feeling that Oscar’s singular talent for smoothing ruffled feathers would resolve the situation before it went that far – and he had been right. Lord Harclair had backed down, but now seemed to think that Oscar worked for Varric, and so contacted him with every little gripe.

Oscar didn’t mind, really. The man was elderly, and a widower, and had little to do all day except write letters of complaint. When Oscar had visited him in person to discuss his property dispute, the old man had been delighted, insisting that Oscar stay for tea. Varric had been so relieved to finally put an end to the matter that he’d sent Oscar six bottles of brandy.

Oscar returned to his list. 

> _Croft - adjustments_
> 
> _Barber_
> 
> _Art dealer_
> 
> _Order more salve_
> 
> _Training - Brennan_
> 
> _Buy glue_

He smiled to himself at the last entry. Sera had received word from a ‘friend’ that a certain noble in the city had had his servant savagely beaten for burning a roast goose. The ruined meal had apparently tarred Lord Abel’s reputation with his business partners.

“We’ll tar his reputation, alright,” said Sera. It had been a simple matter to get the thick glue and goose feathers, though getting onto Abel’s rooftop with one arm had been far more difficult. Dagna, when she had heard about their evening, had started scribbling notes, muttering something that sounded concerningly like ‘grappling hook’.

That had been some weeks ago, and Abel still had feathers sticking out of his collar. They had used the last of the local Friends’ supply of glue, though, so Oscar planned to replenish their stock.

The letters he would deal with later. He was far more keen to get to the second item on his list - a visit to the Croft. Donning his new scarf, he headed down to Lowtown.

After the Inquisition had disbanded, Dagna and Sera had remained at Skyhold while Dagna continued her various research projects. As Skyhold emptied, she and Sera had begun to feel increasingly isolated there, as Sera had mentioned to Oscar in several letters. 

Oscar had spoken with Varric, and eventually Varric had managed to acquire an old, abandoned building in the Foundry district, which he offered to Dagna. She arrived, all of her equipment in tow, and once the place was cleaned up was open for business. She named her new workshop after her previous residence in the Undercroft.

"Can't call it _exactly_ that, since it's not technically _under_ anything," she'd said to Oscar.

The Croft had done a roaring trade almost from the start, with people even travelling to Kirkwall from nearby towns and cities thanks to the range of unusual items and services she offered. With the proceeds, she had been able to buy her own house, a small place on the outskirts of Hightown. The neighbouring nobles had been utterly scandalised by an elf and a dwarf openly living together in their midst, which delighted Sera to no end.

As a side project, Dagna had been working constantly on Oscar's prosthetics, refining and perfecting them. Oscar had had to talk her down from some of her initial ideas, explaining that to begin with, something that even looked like a hand would suffice, and he really didn't need a hand that could phase through walls, or a hand with a flamethrower, or a hand that shot poisoned barbs from the fingertips.

"Don't forget those ideas, mind," Sera had said.

He had been greatly encouraged by Dagna's ideas, though, and all the things she believed she could get an arm to do. It would never be the same - and of course he still had no sensation - but he had still wept the first time he had seen himself with the new arm on.

Since that initial, plain arm - the one he was wearing now - Dagna had come up with two other arms that he had kept. One was a gauntleted hand and lower arm, to which a small, light shield could be attached. That one was new, and so far Oscar had found it difficult to use, the muscles in his upper arm protesting fiercely after years of no use. Nevertheless, he persisted with his training, and had started having sparring sessions with a member of the City Guard, at the Guard Captain's suggestion. He had been greatly discouraged at first by how difficult it was to fight, but he was learning to adapt his fighting style to be more agile and offensive. It was difficult after his years of training in defense, but fortunately he was a fast learner, and was making slow but steady progress.

The second arm - and his favourite - was the one he was going to collect today. Dagna had been working on it for months, alongside her regular work, and was incredibly excited about it. He'd only seen it once, in the conceptual stage, and could hardly believe that she had been able to create something like it. He could only imagine what it looked like now it was complete. He had visited her many times since then for adjustments to his other two arms, but she had not allowed him to see the third until today.

He opened the door to the Croft, and a bell chimed throughout the shop. Dagna hurried out from the back room.

"Oh, hi!" she said. "I've been waiting for you!"

"Sorry," said Oscar. "Got caught up with my morning post."

"No problem," she said, and beckoned him through to her workroom.

As they entered, a man came in from an adjoining room.

"Alexius," said Oscar, inclining his head in his direction.

"Lord Trevelyan," said Alexius in greeting.

Alexius had been carrying out research at Skyhold since his judgement, and had remained after the Inquisition disbanded, continuing his work. Dagna had been approaching him for help with various magics since her arrival, and when she left for Kirkwall - with Oscar's permission - she asked if he might like to come along. He couldn't return to Tevinter, having been exiled by the Magisterium, so had reluctantly accepted.

Varric hadn't been terribly keen on the idea, but Alexius's templar guards had also offered to return with him, and continue to keep an eye on him. They had originally come from Kirkwall, and were glad to return now the situation there had settled down. Thus, Alexius had taken up residence in Dagna's workshop. Word of a disgraced ex-Magister now working as a dwarf's assistant had fuelled gossip in the city for weeks.

Many ancient Tevinter tomes often appeared on Kirkwall's black market, from the city's days as the centre of the Imperium's slave trade. Being one of the only people in Kirkwall who truly understood the value of these texts, Alexius had acquired a great many of them, and was assembling one of the best collections of ancient Tevinter lore outside of the Imperium itself. In their talks, Dorian had often lamented to Oscar that he was too far away to examine them himself, though Alexius had sent a few of the volumes to his former apprentice for his own collection.

"Everything good?" said Dagna to Alexius.

"Yes," he said. "I admit to some - curiosity," he said, glancing over to Dagna's workbench.

"She hasn't let you see it, either?" said Oscar.

"She has not."

On the bench, covered with a cloth, was a large object that had to be the arm. Oscar felt a quiver of anticipation. If it fit, and functioned as Dagna had said, it could change his life.

"Okay! Are you ready?"

"Yes," he said.

"Ta daaa!" she said, and whipped off the cloth.

Oscar and Alexius stepped forward to examine it.

Dagna had been inspired by dwarven mechanical devices in her work, and had been sending letters back and forth with Bianca for advice on some of its elements. The resulting piece was quite beautiful; the metal arm, plated in silverite, was a sight to behold. Each finger had several small, intricate hinges so the fingers could be bent into any required position, and each hinge could then be 'locked' to keep the position fixed. The forearm was covered in dark leather, with fine, silvery runes and glyphs tooled into its surface.

"Lovely craftsmanship," said Alexius approvingly.

"Thanks!" said Dagna brightly. "It _is_ very pretty, isn't it?"

It was certainly a wonder, but Oscar was concerned about its weight, with such intricate workings. He lifted it, and was shocked to feel how light it was.

"Don't need you straining your shoulder using it," said Dagna. "Light as a feather! Well, a bit heavier than a _feather_ , obviously it weighs more than _that_ , but I got it as light as I could without making it too fragile, or too heavy at the end."

"It's remarkable," breathed Oscar.

"Want to try it on?"

"Of course."

The new arm was designed to slot over the existing socket Oscar was already wearing, since that had been fitted to him previously. Dagna, on a stool, fixed the new arm into position, showing him how to fasten the straps and buckles. She jumped down, and grabbed the new hand, pulling him over to the mirror.

Oscar regarded himself, bending his elbow to move the arm, getting used to the weight and feel of it. It didn't look as real as his previous one had, but there was no doubt that it looked impressive.

With his other hand, Oscar began to manipulate the fingers, marvelling at how fine the control was over the positioning.

"There's no autonomous movement, of course," said Dagna. "I'm good, but even I can't work miracles."

"A shame you aren't a mage," said Alexius to Oscar. "You may have been able to control a prosthesis with magic, otherwise."

"That's - a little unsettling," said Oscar. "Could any mage, theoretically-"

"Thought of that," interrupted Dagna. "Protection glyph!" She pointed to one of the silvery runes on his gauntlet. "It can't be controlled by magic."

Alexius looked slightly put out.

"So - what do you think?" said Dagna, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet.

"It's extraordinary," said Oscar. "Truly. Once I’ve truly gotten to grips with it -"

"Grips! Ha!" said Dagna. "Good one!"

"I didn't-" said Oscar awkwardly.

"Oh! Well - nice unintentional pun, then!"

"Er - thank you."

Alexius's face moved into Oscar's line of vision as he leaned in to examine the glyphs more closely.

"Have you included other protection spells?" he asked. "Some of the enchantments I saw applied to the Inquisitor's weapons and armour back at Skyhold were quite exceptional. If they could be re-used here..."

"Some could," said Dagna. "But until I know how Trevelyan's going to be fighting, I don't really want to include something useless. But there are a few little tricks hidden up his -" She giggled behind her gloved hand. "Up his sleeve."

Oscar laughed politely as Alexius rolled his eyes.

"Such as?" said Oscar.

"Oh, just a few little things to protect you. For example..." She lifted a small, sharp looking dagger from a nearby bench.

"Raise your arm! The fake one, I mean."

Oscar did as she instructed, worried. If she was about to attack him, even to pretend, he was probably about to make a colossal fool of himself flailing around in an attempt to defend himself.

Dagna threw the dagger. It arced through the air in a perfect spin, and Oscar squeezed his eyes shut, turning his head away. A magical fizzle sounded through the air, and he opened his eyes just as the dagger clanged harmlessly to the floor.

"Insta-barrier!" said Dagna proudly. "Well, there's a fancier name for it than that, but - yeah! Throw up your arm, and anything coming your way at speed bounces right off."

"That's remarkable," said Oscar.

"Well, yeah," said Dagna. "But anything huge'll still knock you over, mind. Though I'm working on it. Remember all those enchantments we put on your armour? Well, I'm working on a new set for you, to match your arm. Not as heavy." She grinned. "It's going to be so great! I was thinking of a border of stars. Do you like stars? Or maybe snakes, to match Dorian?"

"Dagna," said Oscar, raising his good hand. "You don't have to do that. I know how busy you are - the arm was one thing, but a new suit of armour -"

"Oh, come on," said Dagna. "All the nobles here want are teapots that keep tea warm, basic stuff like that. They don't ask for the really cool things - and I don't give 'em those whey they do, usually. Last thing this city needs is a bunch of mercs running around with enchanted daggers, or impenetrable armour."

"Still," said Oscar. "I insist you let me pay you."

Dagna scratched her head.

"You want to pay me? Well then - how about you get a copy of _Exscidium_ for me? I think you can only get it in Tevinter..." she looked at him shyly.

"I'll see what I can do," said Oscar, smiling. "Thank you. Truly."

"Not at all!" she said. "Oh, and while I remember - how's the pain?"

"Much better, though I'm running low on salve. I'm sending off for some more this afternoon."

After Oscar had been in obvious pain during one of their card evenings, Varric had contacted a 'friend of a friend', who had supplied Oscar with a pot of healing salve to rub into his elbow and the muscles of his upper arm. It had helped immensely, and Oscar had returned to Varric to see about setting up an ordering system. The pots of salve had continued to arrive when Oscar requested them, but Varric said his contact had refused to take any coin for it.

"Well, good," she said. "I've made some adjustments to this one, hopefully it'll help."

"I'll let you know," he said. "Thank you, again. This means a great deal to me."

"No worries," she said. "See you for cards tonight?"

"Of course," he said. "Until then."

After leaving the Croft, he ran some of his errands in Hightown’s market - he visited the art shop to arrange delivery of some pieces he'd recently bought, before stopping off to get his hair cut. He had left it too long once again, and it was beginning to annoy him. He could almost hear Dorian's voice in his head; could almost feel his fingers stroking across the back of his neck.

_You need a haircut, amatus. I don't know how many times I've told you._

Once that was done, the scarf soft against his bare neck, he stopped by the tailor to drop off his new clothes for adjustment. She had collected his boots from the cobbler, and presented them to him along with a new, metal boot jack. He had acquired one in the Lowtown market some time ago, but it had been old and splintered. He had missed being able to wear long boots, especially as the weather turned cold, but with a few adjustments - and the right tools - it was now possible again. Thanking her profusely, he went on his way, and returned to his estate to work on the various letters he needed to send.

He was looking forward to getting home. He was hardly able to take three steps in the marketplace without being accosted by a bevy of merchants, nobles or messengers all wanting his attention. It often reminded him of being back in Skyhold, where sometimes crossing the Great Hall alone would take about twenty minutes.

Finally, bundles under his arm, he escaped the market and made his way up the steps to the Hightown estates. He smiled to himself as his home came into view.

Varric had not been exaggerating when he said Oscar’s new estate was ‘pretty nice’. It had been an understatement – Varric had told him the mansion had once belonged to a magister, before it had passed into the hands of one of Varric’s friends. After Varric’s friend had left the city – and before, he had admitted - the estate had been allowed to fall into disrepair.

Finally, at the endless complaints of the neighbours, Varric had had the entire mansion cleared out and renovated, the idea being to sell it to some new-money merchant who was looking for a base in the city. The idea had not been to simply give it away to one of his friends, as the Seneschal had reminded him numerous times.

Nevertheless, Varric was a man of his word – when it suited him - and so the estate had indeed been signed over to Oscar. He had arrived in Kirkwall to find the building clean and tidy but completely empty, and after a rocky beginning had thrown his efforts into finding furnishings and décor that he liked during his first few months in the city. It had been the ideal project to take his mind off Dorian’s recent departure, and his continuing adjustment to his lost limb.

Now, the estate was far more welcoming; Oscar felt it was still far too large just for him, but he still enjoyed having the space to entertain friends, which he did as often as he could. Every time one of his former inner circle passed through the city, they knew they would always have a room ready for them.

Oscar especially loved his study. He spent more time in here than anywhere else in the estate, and the room always lifted his spirits. His desk faced the roaring fireplace, and long, thin windows of colourful Serault glass sent patterns across his desk on sunny afternoons. Before the fire was a high-backed armchair that had been sent on from Skyhold, a small table next to it. Oscar had also started a small library of his own; Dorian would love it, and probably commandeer it immediately.

Settling himself at the large, ornate desk, Oscar took a moment to let his gaze linger on Dorian's inked sketch of himself before lifting his pen, and beginning his letters.

 


	12. The Magister's Folly

Later that day, having finished his letters, Oscar prepared for his training session with Master Sergeant Brennan of the city guard. It had taken him nearly a year to be able to attempt fighting, and at first his attempts had been pitiful; but he had persisted, and despite the aggravation combat caused in his elbow joint, he was determined to improve his skills.

He didn’t know what the future held - and certainly his life no longer involved daily battles as it once had - but nevertheless, he hated the feelings of inadequacy and helplessness that came with not being able to fight. The idea of not being able to protect the people he cared about, should anything happen, ate at him. And so, he poured all his energy into his training sessions.

Brennan had offered to spar with him after she had joined the guard captain, Aveline, at one of Varric’s card evenings. Oscar had spoken of his desire to get back into it, and she had told him about a member of the city guard whose arm had been mauled by magic during the mage/templar conflicts in the city. She had helped the templar train when he’d returned to active duty, and Oscar was only too happy to take up her offer of training with him as well.

A couple of times a week, she came over to his estate, and they would spar in the courtyard. At first, he had simply used his sword, adjusting how he balanced his weight without his large, heavy shield. He had always had good balance, but found he needed to dodge more now he could no longer take blows as he once could.

His fighting style had evolved in the months that had followed to a more agile, aggressive form of swordplay; he had improved greatly in dodging and parrying, using his opponent’s weight and bulk against them.

More recently, he had begun training with a small buckler shield attached to his prosthetic gauntlet. The extra weight, and the hits against it - even as gentle as they were during practice sessions - had caused great pain in his arm. The salve had helped, but he knew it would be a while before the pain receded after he used it.

Despite the pain, he persisted with the gauntlet, knowing that in time, it would improve. Or at least, he hoped so. He strapped it on with mixed feelings – he did not look forward to the inevitable pain, but he had to admit that wielding a shield again felt good, even if he wasn’t as adept with it yet as he would have liked.

“Comte,” said Brennan, nodding in his direction as he appeared in the courtyard.

“Sorry I’m a little late,” he said, hurrying over.

“Busy day?”

“I’m afraid so,” he said. “But I’m ready to go.” After running all over the city, he was looking forward to hitting something. He had several practice dummies that he used on a daily basis, but there was no substitute for sparring with an actual person.

As always, Brennan started off gently, taking him through a few simple drills, which were usually reserved for new recruits. Once he’d completed those to her satisfaction, it was on to a proper spar.

Brennan circled him, sword raised. Although she had trained with one, she did not usually use a shield herself, and today was wielding a huge sword with both hands.

“Remember what I told you about deflecting blows, rather than trying to _absorb_ them like you used to?”

“I remember,” said Oscar through gritted teeth.

“Well, unless you’re looking to get dead pretty quick, remember it better,” she said, swinging at him with her sword. Once, he would simply have raised his shield and defended, or charged forward with it before she was able to strike him. Now, he used his sword to turn her blade aside, before lashing out with the small, pointed buckler, hitting her in the shoulder. She staggered backwards slightly, but did not lose her balance.

“Better,” she said. “Someone’s been practicing.” Oscar shrugged.

“I _do_ listen, sometimes,” he said.

“Not that you’d have known it,” she said with a grin. “Again.”

They continued practicing dodging rather than offensive work, as Oscar felt this was the area that needed the most focus. He was improving, slowly but surely, and no longer felt like he would be utterly useless if he found himself in a fight. As well as training with his sword, he had also acquired a large, ornate dagger, which he had begun practicing with. He was still more comfortable with a sword, but there was no doubt that the lightness of the dagger made things easier. He wished Cole were still around for some advice on using it.

By the end of their session, Oscar was sweating, his breaths coming hard. He was also furious with himself for how sloppy he was getting. Brennan had bested him on their last five rounds, and he pushed the damp hair out of his eyes before raising the buckler again, jolts of pain screaming up his arm.

“Perhaps we should call it a day,” said Brennan, at his obviously labored breathing.

“One more,” said Oscar. “And don’t go so easy on me this time.”

“I wasn’t,” she said. “But perhaps you should go easier on yourself.”

“Are we sparring, or not?” said Oscar firmly.

“I think we’re done,” said Brennan. “You make that arm of yours worse, we won’t be able to spar at all next time.”

Oscar knew she was right, but still huffed out a sigh of frustration.

“Very well,” he said. “Until next time, then.”

Brennan shook his hand, as always, and left. Before heading in to freshen up for his evening out, Oscar spent a little more time with his practice dummy, despite his own better judgement, slashing and striking at it until the pain in his arm forced him to stop.

Afterwards, he washed with a large bowl of warm water, hissing in pain when he ran his soaped hand over his left elbow. His arm was still not accustomed to the weight of the gauntlet and buckler, and he was still not entirely used to the range of motion required to use it adequately. Not being able to rotate or tilt the buckler made handing it difficult, and also meant all of the motion – and strength - had to come from his upper arm, meaning the pain was not just present in his elbow, but up through his arm and shoulder as well.

Still, he told himself, the pain meant he was learning. As his boyhood tutor had told him – no pain, no gain. He rubbed some of the herbal salve into the joints and muscles before he dressed, breathing its pleasing scent in deeply.

Once he was dressed, Oscar decided against his heavy coat – he loved it, but the idea of pushing his aching arm into the sleeve didn’t seem especially appealing. He opted instead for a velvet-lined cloak, which would ward off the cold and was much easier to get on and off.

The evening was chilly when Oscar stepped outside, but mercifully dry. He tugged his cloak tighter and headed across to the Viscount’s estate.

Oscar often hosted these get-togethers nowadays, but on this occasion Varric had invited everyone around to his estate for cards and drinks. Despite the grandeur of the surroundings, these evenings were usually a lot of fun. Oscar loved spending time with his friends, and had an open-door policy at his own estate. He would often come home to find Sera running his kitchen staff ragged demanding various foodstuffs, or Dagna rifling through his small library for any new or unusual tomes. He didn’t mind; on the contrary, he loved the company and was only sorry when they went home. He had never lived alone in such a large house – he had gone from his family’s estate, to Haven, to Skyhold, and had found the adjustment to living alone a difficult one.

A servant ushered him to the door of Varric’s private sitting room as he arrived, scurrying away to hang up his cloak.

Oscar could hear raised voices from inside.

“- know this is important to you, but to be fair, this is the third time you’ve told me about it. This month, at least,” he heard Varric say.

The other, a lilting woman’s voice, replied.

“But this is _different_ , Varric,” she said, pleadingly. Oscar recognised her as Varric’s friend, Merrill. They had only met a couple of times since he had come to live in the city – she lived in the alienage, and spent a great deal of her time and energy assisting her fellow elves in improving their position in the city. Part of this was putting pressure on the Viscount to allocate more resources to them – which was made easier by the fact they were old friends, and he had a soft spot for her, to the Seneschal’s eternal frustration.

Not wanting to eavesdrop, he knocked lightly on the door. At Varric’s reply, he entered.

“Inquisitor! About time you showed up. Drink?” said Varric. Even though it had been several years since Oscar had been Inquisitor, he suspected Varric would call him by the title for the rest of his life.

“Thank you,” said Oscar, accepting a goblet of warm, spiced wine. Varric liked to put his guests at ease just as much as Oscar did, though Oscar privately suspected it was to make them comfortable so they would spill more secrets. “I hope I’m not interrupting?”

Varric opened his mouth to speak, but Merrill got there first.

“You are, a bit,” she said. “Oh, and hello, Lord Trevelyan.”

“Please, call me Oscar,” he said.

“Alright, Oscar,” she said. She turned back to Varric.

“Won’t you even speak to them?” she said.

“Okay, okay, I will,” he said, a sigh in his voice. “But does it have to be tonight?”

“Yes,” said Merrill firmly. “They’ve been thorough a lot. They just want to tell you what happened.”

“And it’s this urgent? Don’t they want to – I don’t know, take a bath, or sleep, or something?”

“They were too nervous to come themselves, but they want to speak to someone straight away,” said Merrill, folding her arms. “I said I’d ask you. I told them you were nice, but they wouldn’t stop shaking, poor things.”

Oscar glanced back and forth between them, at a loss.

“Sorry,” said Varric. “Daisy says that some of the elves who went missing recently - you know, the ones from the alienage? Well, they’re back.”

“Back?” said Oscar. “None of the others returned, did they?”

“No,” said Merrill, angrily. “Every time elves disappear we never see them again. And even though we get more guards, and even put up magical wards, they keep disappearing.”

Oscar exchanged an uncomfortable look with Varric. Kirkwall was not the only place to report that elves had been disappearing in the night, and the letters Oscar received on occasion from Harding indicated that most of them were travelling north.

“What?” said Merrill, catching the look. “Did I say something stupid?”

“No,” said Varric cautiously. “But – it might not be what you think.”

“What do you mean? What else could it be? Tevinters have been snatching elves for centuries. And they’re probably the only people who’d be able to get past the wards we put up. They might even be able to wipe the guards’ memories with blood magic,” she said, her eyes widening.

“Look, Daisy,” said Varric, rubbing his forehead with his thick fingers. “I’ll look into it again. And I’ll speak with your friends when I get a chance, but –"

“Good,” she said. “Because I told them to wait outside. I’ll go and get them.”

She hurried off, and Oscar looked quizzically at Varric, who slumped back in his chair.

“Sorry about this,” he said. “Honestly, I had a quiet night of backgammon and drinks planned, but then Daisy turned up saying that some missing elves had reappeared, and – well. You heard the rest.”

“That’s a bit unusual though, isn’t it?” said Oscar. “Elves who left, reappearing?”

“Well, yeah,” admitted Varric. “But there could be lots of reasons. They could have – shit, I don’t know, left to join the Qun, and then changed their minds.”

“They seem very keen to talk to you, though.”

“Well, if they’re reporting another Qunari invasion, I don’t want to know.”

“Do you think they know anything about –" Oscar lowered his voice. “About Solas?”

“I doubt it,” said Varric. “He doesn’t seem the sort to just let his people wander off with information about him.”

“True.”

Merrill returned, leading three nervous, grubby looking elves behind her. One of them had a deep cut on his ear, and another was cradling a bandaged arm to his chest. They looked around the room, eyes wide.

“Uh, hi,” said Varric, rising from his chair. “Welcome. Do you, uh – want to sit down?”

The uninjured elf shook his head, and the others followed suit.

“Viscount Tethras,” the first elf said, stepping forward. “We need to tell you about what happened in the alienage, messere. We were taken, by Tevinters. They dragged us off to be sold, ser.”

“I knew it,” hissed Merrill, her hands balling into fists. Oscar felt the newly-shorn hairs on the back of his neck stand up from the static charge suddenly building in the room, and a pang of longing for Dorian hit him. He hadn’t realised how accustomed he had become to the presence of Dorian’s magic around him until he was gone.

“Calm down, Daisy,” said Varric. “What’s your name?” he said to the elf.

"Myrdan, ser,” said the elf. “This is my brother Myrin, and this is Elmar,” he said, indicating his companions.

“Okay, Myrdan,” said Varric. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

“We were out in the streets,” said Myrdan. “It was late, but we had the night shift in the  _Vhenallin_.”

“The  _Vhenallin_?” repeated Oscar.

“It’s a sort of – militia, I suppose you'd call it,” said Merrill proudly. “We started it after so many went missing. We look after our own.”

“We were armed,” said Myrdan. “But the Tevinters – well, they had magic. They got past the wards, but I suppose those wouldn’t be much help against Tevinter mages. They put some sort of spell on us. We couldn’t move.”

“And then what happened?” said Varric, as Myrdan went quiet.

“I don’t remember, exactly,” he said. “They dragged us to a carriage, and threw us in the back, all tied up. I don’t know how long they kept us in there for – but the carriage was attacked, and they were murdered. We were set free, and told to head back home.”

Varric’s eyes narrowed.

“I have a feeling I already know the answer,” he said. “But do you happen to know who rescued you?”

“We didn’t get his name,” said Myrdan. “But he was an elf.”

“He didn’t by any chance have white hair, and a ridiculously enormous sword?”

The elves blinked.

“He did ser, yes,” said Myrdan.

Varric laughed, shaking his head.

“Of course he did,” he said, half to himself.

“We got these documents from the slavers, my lord,” said Myrdan, pulling some crumpled papers from his pocket. “The man who saved us said we should give them to you.” He smoothed the papers as best he could before handing them to Varric.

“What does it say?” said Merrill, on her tiptoes, peering at the documents.

“It’s a contract, of a sort,” said Varric, glancing over the document. “It’s basically giving the slavers authority to commandeer carriages, have expenses waived, basically do whatever the hell they want. They’re usually signed off by a magister.”

“What magister would be so foolish as to publicly put their name to something like that?” said Oscar.

“Well, it doesn’t actually _say_ they’re free to travel around abducting slaves, it says some stuff about ‘conducting business on behalf of the Magisterium’. But we know what they were really doing.”

“Even so,” said Oscar. “If they were caught –"

“I don’t think they intended to _get_ caught,” said Varric. “And even if they were, as far as anyone examining these papers knew, they were simply sourcing expensive Orlesian cheeses for the Archon’s birthday party.”

“Who signed it?” said Oscar. “Do you think they even knew they were approving the requests of slavers?”

“Uh, let me check,” said Varric, turning over to the second page. His expression became grave.

“What is it?” said Oscar.

“You’d better take a look at this,” said Varric, passing the papers to Oscar.

He read through it briefly - a list of grandiose-sounding demands, allowing the soldiers to do as they pleased. The ‘or else’ was heavily implied.

Oscar turned to the second page, and his blood ran cold.

At the bottom of the document, in flowing, intimately familiar script, was the signature of the magister who had approved the request.

_Magister Dorian Pavus._

“This isn’t possible,” he blurted after the immediate shock had worn off. “He would never do this.” He looked up at Varric. “You know him, Varric. You know he wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, I do,” said Varric heavily. “But – " He tailed off, looking at the document in Oscar’s hands.

“You know this magister?” said Merrill.

“He’s a - friend,” said Varric delicately, aware of the three elves still in the room.

“There must be an explanation,” said Oscar. “This document is so vague - perhaps he didn’t even know it was a request from slavers.”

“You could be right,” said Varric thoughtfully. “He _could_ have been hoodwinked by a cleverly worded request, but I find that hard to believe. Everyone in Tevinter has their noses in what everyone else is doing, and every contract or document I’ve ever seen has been so specific – not to mention tied up in legal jargon - that nothing gets past the magisters. And this,” he said, pointing to the letter, “is so oddly _un_ specific that I have to wonder if Sparkler even read it before he signed it.”

Oscar frowned. Dorian wasn’t the type to put his name to something without checking it first, and he was a very intelligent man. Oscar couldn’t imagine him signing such a document without asking for more details first.

“Let me see what I can find out,” he said to Varric. “I’ll get answers for you.”

“Good,” said Varric. “Let’s hope this was just a simple misunderstanding.” He glanced back at the trio of elves.

“Thanks for coming to me,” he said. “And thanks for the papers. Why don’t you head to the kitchens, and tell them to get you something hot to eat? Or - a stiff drink, if you prefer?”

The elves seemed to perk up.

“Thank you, my Lord,” they said. “We will.”

Bowing, they left the room, and Merrill smiled approvingly at Varric.

“See?” she said. “I told them you were nice.”

“Yeah, well,” said Varric, resting his chin in one hand. “I think I might be all niced out for the day.”

“I doubt that,” said Merrill. “I know you have plenty of nice to spare.”

She left to find the three elves, leaving Varric and Oscar alone. They glanced at the backgammon board.

“I don’t know about you, but somehow I’m not really in the mood for a game right now,” said Varric.

“Agreed,” said Oscar. “I should head off and see if I can contact Dorian. I’m sure he’ll have answers.”

“I hope so,” said Varric. “Well, let me know what you find out.”

Oscar nodded.

“Everything will be fine,” he said.


	13. A Pathless Wood

“Are you still there?” said Oscar tentatively.

He had contacted Dorian the moment he had woken up to discuss the bizarre documents the elves had delivered to Varric the night before. He’d tried to call the previous night, only to remember that Dorian was at a party and therefore wouldn’t be able to talk freely. He’d then tried to wait up, but had fallen asleep before Dorian had gotten home.

He’d brought up the letter immediately once Dorian had answered that morning, and his husband had fallen into an unusual silence at his words.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if someone found that and assumed I was just like any other magister,” said Dorian eventually. “But _you_ , _amatus_?”

Oscar could hear the hurt in his voice, however much he tried to mask it.

“I’m sorry,” said Oscar. “Truly. And you know I don’t believe it. But – you can see how it looks. I know it isn’t what it looks like, I just – wondered what had happened.”

“You know it isn't?”

“Of course I do,” said Oscar. “I know _you_.”

“Well,” said Dorian, his tone softening. “I _do_ remember signing that. I remember thinking how odd it was they brought it to _me_ , for starters.”

“Why did they?”

“Probably because I’m still one of the most junior members of the Magisterium, and therefore my time isn’t as valuable as the others,” said Dorian, a touch bitterly.

“What did they say they wanted?” said Oscar, looking at the document again. “This is awfully vague, Dorian. Didn’t you wonder?”

Dorian was silent again, for a moment.

“I remember..." He paused again, and Oscar frowned. “I was told they were apprentices working in the Hall of Antiquities, and would be travelling south to recover artifacts of great historical significance to the Imperium, and they required a writ to be able to carry on their business without interference.”

Oscar’s frown deepened. Dorian sounded as though he were reading from a script.

“And that didn’t seem strange to you?” he said. “That apprentice archaeologists would need a writ like that?”

“Not really,” said Dorian dismissively. “Whatever we do in the south, someone always takes offence, even if it’s simply to benefit higher learning. Those writs are just a formality, something to wave at any jobsworth who decides to try and oust the evil Tevinters, when they’re simply trying to collect items which belong to us in the first place and bring them home.”

“Even though they were, in fact, collecting slaves,” said Oscar.

“I suppose that’s what I get for wanting to believe the best of people,” said Dorian. “I learned that from you, you know. Before you became a terrible influence on me, I always believed people were dreadful. I thoroughly recommend it,” he said. “Less unpleasant surprises that way.”

Oscar’s expression relaxed.

“I don’t believe you,” he said warmly. “I know you always saw the good in people, whether they deserved it or not. You wouldn’t have followed Alexius south if you thought he was truly beyond reason.”

“You know me too well, _amatus_.”

Oscar smiled, but still found he couldn’t truly relax. There was still something that didn’t feel right about this whole situation, even though what Dorian was saying made sense…

“Don’t worry,” said Dorian placatingly. “I’ll look into it. Since they’re dead, there isn’t anything I can do, really – except to be sure to pass on every writ I get given to a clerk first, to check over thoroughly.”

Oscar would have assumed Dorian would have preferred to do his own double-checking, but then again, the life of a magister was a busy one. Dorian seemed to be constantly working, whether that took the form of debates, meetings, sessions of the Magisterium, attending parties to network with potential allies, magical research … in the past few months, he had hardly seemed to spend any time relaxing at all.

For a man who had frequently berated him for working too hard during his time as Inquisitor, and had constantly encouraged him to take time for himself and relax, it was certainly a change of outlook. Oscar worried about him, and had even sent him a parcel filled with indulgent treats – Orlesian bath oils, funny books he’d enjoyed, a challenging dwarven puzzle game – in the hopes he might find some time to unwind. So far, to Oscar’s knowledge, he had not.

“Plans for today?” said Dorian conversationally, pulling Oscar’s attention back to the conversation.

“I was going to try and get some writing done,” said Oscar.

“Ah yes,” said Dorian. “The memoirs. Make sure you include full descriptions of my outfits – future historians will want to know every detail.”

“I think some of your outfits might defy description, love,” said Oscar.

“This is true.”

“Shall we talk tonight?” said Oscar hopefully. Their talks had been getting fewer and farther between as of late, what with Dorian being so busy.

“I’ll be spending most of the evening in the charming company of Magister Killian and his guests,” said Dorian with a sigh. “It’ll be worth it if Scaeva turns up, as is rumoured; I’ve been trying to corner him for weeks.”

“I can wait up, if you like,” said Oscar, hating how needy he sounded. They had once spoken every day, and often spoke while they were both in bed. Despite the miles, it was always a comfort to Oscar to hear Dorian’s voice as he drifted off to sleep – on the occasions that Dorian fell asleep before him, Oscar would listen to his sleepy breaths through the crystal, and the distance between them would not feel quite so great, for a few moments.

“No, no sense in both of us being exhausted tomorrow,” said Dorian wryly. “Don’t worry. I’ll call you tomorrow, I promise.”

“Tomorrow, then,” said Oscar, disappointed.

“Indeed,” said Dorian. “Good luck with cataloguing our heroic exploits. Don’t forget to emphasise how handsome I am.”

“My prose about you shall be so purple it will put _Her Perfumed Sanctuary_ to shame.”

Dorian laughed, and it was music to Oscar’s ears.

“Until tomorrow, then, _amatus_ ,” said Dorian, and the crystal went dark before Oscar had a chance to reply.

He closed the locket it was encased in, worrying at the chain. Dorian had sounded like his usual self through most of their conversation - but there was something wrong, of that Oscar was increasingly sure.

It could be stress, he had thought at first ... Dorian had dived headlong into his new role, his ambition matched only by his drive. He had been repeatedly stonewalled in every direction at first, but had persisted, and was making some progress - or so he said.

Despite that, he had always had time for Oscar, telling his _amatus_ that their talks were his favourite part of each day. They would spend hours talking late into the night about how their days had been, or Dorian’s work, or Dagna’s latest wonder. On difficult days, they would be there to lift each other, and on good ones, they would celebrate together. Some days proved more difficult than others, and they argued on occasion, the distance making it much harder to be fully understood – but throughout it all, and despite their mutual stubbornness, the lines of communication remained open, and they persisted.

In the last few months, though, Dorian’s calls had become far less frequent. Oscar would almost always be the one to initiate the call now, and a frazzled-sounding Dorian would say he had been too busy, or had forgotten.

In all the years he had known him, Oscar had never heard Dorian admit to forgetting anything.

He worried that Dorian was pushing himself too hard, in his desire to make a difference – he had no doubt that he could, and he certainly understood Dorian’s emerging workaholic tendencies as he shared them himself – but Dorian’s recent withdrawal was hurting Oscar deeply.

Maybe Dorian didn’t need him any more. Maybe he had adjusted to the separation better than Oscar had.

Even as the thoughts popped unbidden into hid mind, Oscar knew they weren't true. He knew how much the separation affected them both. He had thought that time would dull the pain, the longing; would make it feel like a distant memory. But their separation had brought with it its own kind of grief – at first, it had been sharp and immediate, a near-constant twist in his heart. He had kept turning to tell Dorian things, or would wake up and reach for him, in an empty bed, with a hand that wasn’t there.

Now, it was a different kind of ache – almost like an old wound, that flared up when the weather was bad. Most of the time he had become accustomed to his new life, but sometimes, in his sitting room of an evening, the longing to feel Dorian in his arms again would shock him with its sudden resurgence. Dorian had said as much in a conversation they’d had a few months after he’d left.

_"I actually thought it would be pleasant, in a sense,”_ he had said. _“A ridiculous idea, of course – but I imagined myself reclining on a chaise, sighing dramatically, gazing out over the ocean while calling to mind the exact hue of your eyes.”_ He had tutted.

_“I didn’t imagine I would be trying desperately hard not to cry in the middle of a long-winded Magisterium debate about taxes.”_

That had been Oscar’s experience, too. He would be going about his business as usual when he would suddenly be blindsided by sadness as the distance between them hit him. Several times, he had had to talk himself out of booking passage on the first available caravan to Tevinter, and turning up on Dorian’s doorstep.

The intervening years had helped, a little, and they had both regained their equilibrium, building a stronger relationship together. Or so Oscar had thought.

Still troubled, he headed through to his study to begin that day's work on his memoirs. While they had still been at Skyhold, Cassandra had mentioned that she was writing an account of everything that had happened to them in the Fade. Her idea, along with what had happened to the truth about Inquisitor Ameridan, had given Oscar the idea to write an account of his own of his time as Inquisitor. He wasn’t aiming to sell thousands of copies as Varric’s books had, but simply to record the truth.

Of course, Oscar being Oscar, he had not been able to resist making some of the tale rather more involved than simply a dry, historical text. He found he could not be entirely unbiased when talking about his friends, and had trouble reining in the depth of his feelings whenever he mentioned Dorian. He did not want to conceal their relationship from any future readers, but neither did he want his tale to become a flowery romance novel, no matter how thrilled Cassandra might be.

Oscar lifted his quill and reviewed the last page he had written – he was currently halfway through recalling the events of their visit to the Exalted Plains – but found he was utterly unable to concentrate. His conversation with Dorian kept swirling around in his head, and his worry only compounded as he thought about it.

Putting the book pages aside, he pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and began a letter.

*          *          *

Several days passed, and Oscar had yet to hear from Dorian. He had attended the party he had mentioned, and since then had been in the middle of something every time Oscar tried to speak to him. It was with some surprise, then, that Oscar felt the soft vibration of his locket against his chest. Pulling it out from under his clothes, he popped it open.

“Dorian?” he said. “Are you alright?”

“Am I alright?” hissed his husband. “Now he asks? You didn’t think to ask me directly, rather than writing letters behind my back?”

Oscar sighed internally. He had written to Maevaris out of concern, but did not think she would have told Dorian about it immediately.

“She told you?" he said.

"One of my servants did, actually," said Dorian.

"How did they get word from Maevaris's estate so quickly?"

“Mae is staying in the capital for a time. And as you know, servants pinch letters. And talk to each other.”

"Ah."

They were both silent for a moment.

“I was worried,” said Oscar.

“About me?” Dorian scoffed. “I told you – I’m fine. I’m simply busy at the moment. You didn’t hear me complaining when you had a million and one things to deal with as Inquisitor.”

“I’m not complaining,” said Oscar. “I was simply concerned that you might be overstretching yourself. I wasn't trying to be intrusive, or to embarrass you. I was worried, that's all, and didn’t know who else to talk to about it."

"What about me?" said Dorian acidly.

“I _have_ talked to you about it," said Oscar. "You ignored me, as I recall."

"Because you're worrying unnecessarily," said Dorian, though his tone had softened slightly. “I told you I would let you know if I was getting in over my head. Truly, you don’t need to worry.”

"Sorry,” said Oscar. "Husband's prerogative."

Dorian tutted.

" _Amatus_ ,” he said fondly. "What am I going to do with you?"

"I can think of a few ideas," said Oscar, glad to hear the warmth creeping back into Dorian's voice.

"Well, hold that thought," said Dorian. "You'll need to remember it for the next time we see one another.”

“I’ll add it to the list," said Oscar.

"You have a list, too?"

"I certainly do."

"Goodness. Two lists could take quite a while to get through."

"That's the plan.”

Oscar was smiling, but wondered if Dorian wasn't trying to deflect him with flirting.

"Dorian," he said seriously. "Honestly. Are you alright?"

"Yes," said Dorian vehemently. "And I appreciate your concern, truly. I simply have a lot of things to juggle at the moment. Things will settle down soon."

"I hope you're right," said Oscar.

"Actually, I was planning to attend a concert tonight," said Dorian, "Care to - _join_ me? Like last time?"

"I'd love to," said Oscar.

"I must go," said Dorian. "But I'll speak to you later, _amatus_." The crystal went dark.

Despite Dorian's comforting words, Oscar had to admit he didn't feel entirely reassured. He was glad Dorian wasn't still angry with him, but he still felt that he was being evasive, somehow.

He spent the rest of the day unable to concentrate on his writing, drifting through his estate and picking at food, before it was time for the symphony Dorian had mentioned. He was pleased his husband was finally taking a night off from work, though he wondered if it were simply to keep him from worrying rather than a genuine desire on Dorian's part to relax.

They had done this before - Oscar loved music, as did Dorian, so when one or the other would attend a performance they would often leave their sending crystals connected, so the other could hear the orchestra. Oscar wondered what the Minrathous symphony would think if they knew they had an audience in the Free Marches.

He lay back on his bed and let the music wash over him, wishing he were there with Dorian in person, grateful as he was to be able to share the experience with him.

Once it was over, and the polite applause had died down, he heard Dorian's whispering voice.

"What did you think?"

"Lovely," he whispered back, looking forward to discussing the performance. "I was especially -"

He got no further, as another, booming voice suddenly emanated from the crystal, making him jump.

"Magister Pavus," said the unfamiliar voice. "I was hoping to catch you."

"Magister Roe," replied Dorian. Before Oscar heard any more, the crystal abruptly went silent, the glow within fading to nothing. Dorian had obviously snapped his locket shut so his colleague wouldn't hear anything.

Dorian did not call back again that night.

The next morning, Oscar received a reply from Maevaris.

> _Lord Trevelyan_ , she wrote.
> 
> _Thank you for your letter - I confess I've been a little concerned about Dorian recently myself, especially with all those headaches he's been having, though it's hardly the first time I've seen a newly-minted magister work themselves practically into the ground to establish themselves in the Magisterium. Still, that doesn't explain the documents you sent. It's most unlike him to sign something so vague - as you are no doubt aware, Dorian usually has an excellent eye for detail._
> 
> _I wouldn't worry yourself too much, though - Dorian is an intelligent man, and has several demanding projects on the go at the moment. I'm sure he will be back to himself soon enough. In the meantime, I'll attempt to force him down to the baths some day soon. I hope you get to see them yourself some day - they are quite exquisite._
> 
> _I am spending some weeks in the capital to attend meetings with our little group, as well as attend sessions of the Magisterium itself, so will do my best to keep an eye on him. I'm sure being so far away doesn't help with the worry, but hopefully this will ease your mind a little._
> 
> _Kind regards,_
> 
> _Magister Maevaris Tilani_

Her letter had not eased Oscar's mind at all. On the contrary, he was now more worried than ever. Maevaris's mention of headaches was of particular concern - Dorian had not mentioned such a thing during any of their talks since he had left Orlais.

Oscar made his way to his study, and sat down at the desk. He dug around in the drawer until he found what he had come in for.

He spread the map of Thedas over the desk, and peered at the scribbles all over its surface, marking the route from Kirkwall to Tevinter. This wasn't the first time he had pulled out this map and contemplated the journey he was once again considering now, but he had never had quite so much cause for concern before.

Oscar glanced over at the sheets of paper he had left out, ready to reply to Maevaris in the morning. Grabbing the sheaf, he lifted his pen and began to write.

He was going to need some travelling companions.


	14. The Party Line

Dusk had fallen over Minrathous. Magical lanterns lit the streets and plazas, and the cries of merchants selling the last of their wares before packing up for the day filled the air. The night was warm, the scents of incense and spices carried on the breeze, and slaves rushed through the streets preparing for their masters' evening entertainments.

Tonight, Magister Kaeso Isatis was holding a lavish coming-of-age party for his eldest son and heir, Titus. Most of the guests had probably never even met Titus, or cared much for his father, but parties such as this were a place to see and be seen; to outdo one's rivals with the most generous gifts.

In one of the city's grandest estates, Magister Dorian Pavus was preparing for the festivities, though like most of the Magisterium he couldn't say he had any particular fondness for young Titus. The boy was known for throwing his money and status around and treating their family's workers badly, but as he was preparing to marry his betrothed, Stella, in a couple of years, his parents let him do as he pleased for the most part. It was hardly an uncommon state of affairs within noble families.

While Dorian was looking forward to the food and wine, he also had a secondary aim tonight, which was to corner Magister Sergius Scaeva, a member of the consiliare to the Archon. Scaeva had the most clout when it came to bills regarding the Aerarium's financial affairs, and of late Dorian and his allies had been pushing for the Senate to reject Magister Roe's newest bills requesting even more resources for the war against the Qunari. The Circles were crumbling round them as it was - this would make things even worse. Scaeva's support of their aims would be invaluable, but he was notoriously reclusive and difficult to arrange meetings with.

That didn't mean he couldn't enjoy the party on some level. At least he would have company for once - Maevaris was spending some weeks in the city, and some of their other associates would be in attendance as well.

His own gift to the young lord had already been delivered - a finely-crafted staff blade. The boy would receive a brand new staff from his parents on his coming of age, as was traditional. He had been half tempted to send along the ring of invisibility that Oscar had recovered on one of their adventures - with a note attached explaining its use - but decided that just because he had bucked against his fate didn't mean that Titus wanted to. He could be quite happy to marry Stella, for all Dorian knew.

He sipped again at his cooling coffee, willing its effects to kick in quickly. Josephine had gotten him hooked on the beverage while he had been with the Inquisition, and he had been importing it from Antiva since his return to the Imperium. If he had been anyone else, the drink would probably have become terribly fashionable, Magisters throughout the country taking up drinking the stuff - but no, he was Dorian Pavus, so the bitter brew became just another of his peculiarities to his peers.

"My Lord," said a servant at the door. "Your carriage is ready."

Dorian downed the rest of his drink and took one last look in the mirror, smoothing his hair. Since leaving the South, he had decided to let it grow out, something he had often thought about doing, though he had kept the back and sides underneath shorn, mostly because of the heat. It was past his collar, now, when it was loose, but for the festivities he had neatly tied it at the crown of his head with a golden cord. These parties tended to be warm affairs.

The Isatis estate was, at Lady Isatis's insistence, painted in deep blue with golden accents. It was unusual to have the exterior of a building decorated so garishly, but Dorian had always secretly loved it. The midnight blue pillars that fronted the building were decorated with gilded designs of constellations and arcane symbols, and he almost wished he could spend the evening standing on the doorstep so he could examine them more closely.

The party was inside, though, centered in the main atrium. Slaves moved throughout the hall bearing trays of drinks, and an elaborate buffet was laid out along the sides of the chamber. All over the room, enormous cushions lay scattered on the floor for the guests. Many of his fellow Magisters were already reclined upon them, boring each other with tales of their most recent accomplishments.

"Ah, Dorian," said Mae, appearing from the crowd. "There you are. Fashionably late, I see?"

"Naturally," said Dorian, kissing her cheek. “How has the evening been so far?" 

"Oh, you know how these things are," said Mae. "All the gifts for the boy are on display at the back of the atrium. Rather vulgar, if you ask me."

“Quite,” said Dorian. " _My_ gifts weren't displayed at my sixteenth."

"Nor mine," said Mae, glancing back at the tables piled high with rolls of exotic fabrics, rare books, bags of gold, bottles of fine wines and arcane equipment. "But it does mean no one can lie about what they brought. Which rather put out Magister Frius - he only brought a paltry gift, and now everyone knows it."

"He's still struggling with his finances, then?"

"Of course," said Mae. "He poured all of his gold into that foolish military venture with Roe."

"Hence him going back to the Aerarium yet again, cap in hand?"

"Cap in hand?"

"Sorry. Southern term - means he went back begging for more gold."

"Ah. Precisely."

"Any sign of Roe tonight?" said Dorian, glancing around.

"Not yet," said Mae. "Though I heard Scaeva's showing up later."

"Good to know," said Dorian. "He was friends with my father - I'm hoping that means he'll be willing to talk to me."

"Here's hoping," said Mae.

At that moment, they were approached by Magister Vesta, clutching an enormous fan. Vesta was one of the members of the Magisterium who had been more receptive to Mae and Dorian's ideas than most - she had not gone quite as far as joining the Lucerni, but neither did she go out of her way to avoid being seen talking to them, like many of the others did.

"Good evening," she said, inclining her head. "How are you both finding the party?"

Vesta, Dorian recalled, had lost her uncle after a fierce duel with Titus's grandfather.

"Ghastly," he said, and Vesta's smile widened slightly.

"Naturally," she said. "And how have you been, Magister Pavus?"

"Very well, thank you," said Dorian.

"And how is your dear _friend_ in the south?"

Dorian sighed inwardly. Even the more liberally-minded Magisters in Tevinter stopped short of referring to Oscar as his husband - as their marriage had been officiated over by the southern Chantry, nobody in Tevinter recognised it as legitimate, with the exception of Mae and a few of their friends. They considered Dorian's referral to Oscar as his husband as yet another of his eccentricities.

"He's well, thank you," said Dorian. "Keeping busy."

"How nice," said Vesta politely. "I heard he had lost an arm in an accident?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Gracious, how awful," she said, fanning herself. She lowered the fan again to lean in conspiratorially towards Dorian.

"If I may ask - isn't that... rather off-putting? When you ..."

She tailed off, but her rising eyebrows said everything her words didn't. Dorian's expression hardened, and without another word, he turned and swept away to the other side of the atrium, grabbing a goblet of wine from a passing servant. Mae hurried after him.

"It’s not like you not to want to have the last word," she said, catching up with him.

"Some opinions are so foolish as to not be worthy of a reply," he said. "Honestly. Idiot woman." He took a sip of his wine, seething.

"Why don't you get some air?" said Mae, pointing to the veranda. "Magister Isatis's gardens are splendid. In the meantime, I must speak with Drusus."

"Ah, about his new bill?"

"That's the one," she said, taking a fortifying sip of wine. "Wish me luck. The man's the biggest bore in the city."

"Good luck," said Dorian, as she walked away.

Her suggestion of taking some air in the gardens was a good one. Dorian headed out onto the veranda, and looked up at the stars, feeling clearer already for not being in the hot atrium. Strolling among the sweet-smelling flowers, listening to insects hum in the warm air, he wheeled around at another sound nearby.

From a nearby bush came a rustling sound, followed by a feminine giggle. Dorian rolled his eyes and headed as quickly as he could in the opposite direction, deeper into the gardens. As a younger man, he had hardly been a stranger to sneaking off at this sort of party for an assignation in the bushes, but that didn’t mean he wanted to listen to it now, especially as the one person he would have wanted to sneak off to the bushes with was many hundreds of miles away.

Further away from the house, all was quiet, and Dorian took a deep breath. Almost before he could think about it, he found his fingers going to the chain around his neck, tugging the pendant free from under his clothes. He clicked it open, and waited.

“Hello, love,” came Oscar’s voice shortly after.

"Hello yourself,” said Dorian softly. “Did I wake you?"

"No," said Oscar. "I was writing some letters."

"Burning the midnight oil, _amatus_?"

"I'm afraid so,” said Oscar. "I thought you were at a party?"

"I am," he said. "I'm hiding in the bushes."

Oscar laughed. "How glamorous. These Tevinter parties are even stranger than I thought."

"It's for privacy," said Dorian. "I wanted to talk to you."

"Oh?" said Oscar in concern. "About?"

"Not about anything in particular," said Dorian. "I simply wanted to hear your voice."

"Oh," said Oscar, and Dorian could hear the warmth in his tone. "Well, I'm always happy to hear _your_ voice, any time."

"So you should be," said Dorian. "I have excellent diction."

Oscar chuckled.

"So," said Oscar. "What are you wearing?"

It was Dorian's turn to laugh.

"Really?" he said. "In public?"

"No, silly," said Oscar. "I was genuinely curious. I remember you saying these parties were all about style."

“Ah," said Dorian. "And here I thought I had been presented with a fine opportunity for scandal."

"The night is young," said Oscar. "And do you really need any _more_ opportunities for scandal?

"A good point," said Dorian. "Oh, and - forest green and gold, if you must know."

"Sounds lovely,” said Oscar.

"It is," said Dorian. "I'll wear it some time, when I next see you."

"I look forward to it. So how's the party?"

"The usual. Politics, pleasantries, deeply insulting personal remarks."

"Were you the one doing the insulting?"

"I was not."

"Oh dear. Are you alright?"

"I am now," said Dorian. "I thought I'd step outside for a few moments. Rather too much _hot air_ in there."

He went quiet, and Oscar picked up on his silence at once.

"Something on your mind?" he said.

"I was thinking back to my own coming of age party, actually," said Dorian. "It was a great deal more lavish than this, of course."

"Naturally," said Oscar wryly.

"As was only befitting the only son and heir of House Pavus, of course," said Dorian caustically. "My parents spared no expense. There were hundreds of guests, and the gifts ... Maker." He paused.

"What did _you_ do for your sixteenth birthday?" he asked Oscar, who laughed.

"Nothing like _that_ ," he said. "Do you know, I'm not sure I even remember. Probably a meal with my family. I was given a new sword, as I recall."

"A decent gift," said Dorian.

"Well - yes, but I can't say I was delighted at the time. It was supposed to be symbolic of my future as a Templar, I think."

"Ah," said Dorian. "Then our gifts had something in common. Mine were entirely the trappings of a Magister-to-be.”

“To be fair," said Oscar amusedly, "you _did_ end up becoming a Magister."

"Yes, who'd have thought?" said Dorian amusedly. "Certainly not I."

They lapsed into silence again.

"I should get back, _amatus_ ," said Dorian reluctantly. "There is someone I must speak with before it gets too late."

“Then I'll let you go,” said Oscar.

"Sorry this was so brief."

"Not at all," said Oscar warmly. "I'm glad you called. Call again whenever you like."

"I shall," he said. "Good night, then."

"Good night, love. Speak soon."

The crystal went dark, and Dorian closed the locket with a click. Oscar's voice had been a balm to his frayed nerves, and he stared up at the stars overhead for a moment longer, breathing in the fragrance from the flowers nearby. He still wasn't even sure why he had called. Dorian had not failed to notice the many sneering glances sent his way as he had been announced at the party; he was well aware of his standing in the Magisterium, but somehow since returning to Tevinter he had felt his pariah-hood more keenly than ever. There was a perverse part of him that was proud of the fact, but nevertheless, hearing the voice of someone who truly loved him - and was proud of him - made it easier to bear.

A voice interrupted his thoughts.

"There you are!" said Mae. "I've been looking for you everywhere. I collared Scaeva. He said he was leaving, but I managed to arrange a meeting for next week."

"Oh, thank you," said Dorian in relief. "I didn't think he'd leave so early. Didn't he just arrive?"

"He's old," said Mae by way of explanation. "So what are you doing skulking about in the bushes?"

"I came out for some air, as you suggested," said Dorian. "And then I decided to call Oscar."

"Ah," said Mae knowingly.

Mae was the only person except him who knew about the crystals. The somewhat macabre reason for this was so that if anything happened to Dorian, Mae would be able to let Oscar know straight away, and directly, rather than him receiving the news by letter.

"How is he?" she said.

"He’s fine," said Dorian. "And a better conversationalist than anyone here - present company excluded, of course."

“Talk about anything interesting?"

"Nothing of import," said Dorian. "Reminiscing."

"Reminiscing?"

"Mmm. Do you remember your coming of age party?"

"Of course," said Mae. "My father got me piles of silks, dresses, cosmetics -" She looked out over the grounds, quiet for a moment. "It was the first birthday I'd had where I received presents I truly wanted. That was what made it special. Though I wasn't exactly complaining about the piles of gold and fine foods, of course."

Dorian smiled.

"And yours?" she said. "I wasn't there. I assume it was ridiculously extravagant?"

"But of course," said Dorian. "The party itself - I'm sure you can imagine. My father accompanied me around the room, introducing me to his peers, telling anyone who would listen of my accomplishments and skill. I was - delighted. Proud. On that night, I felt like the son he'd always wanted."

"So was that the best birthday you've ever had?" she said.

"No, actually," said Dorian. "I'd never have believed it myself, but the best birthday I've ever had was in a draughty castle in the south."

"Really?" said Mae. Dorian nodded.

"I wasn't expecting much fuss," he said. "They don't celebrate these things to quite the extent we do, for the most part. But I awoke to a small pile of gifts, and flowers from the gardens." His smile became distant.

"In the evening, Oscar had asked the kitchen staff to make a meal of Tevinter cuisine. Apparently they took some convincing. It wasn't the best meal I've ever eaten, certainly, but the fact he'd gone to the trouble ... after that, we split a fine bottle of wine, and he actually read me poetry. In Tevene."

"In _Tevene_?" repeated Mae in disbelief.

"Yes," said Dorian with a laugh.

"Was it love poetry?"

Dorian's smile twisted up slightly at one side.

"Perhaps," he said. "His accent was truly dreadful, of course, but still, he'd spent weeks practicing." He tailed off, his expression fond.

"Look at you," said Mae. "All settled down. I never thought I'd see the day."

"Neither did I, honestly.”

"Well, it's good to see you happy. You _are_ happy, I take it?"

"Of course I am," he said. "Well, the hundreds of miles between us notwithstanding."

“That must be difficult." Dorian's face fell.

"Dreadfully," he said.

"I hope I get to meet Oscar some day," said Mae.

"You will," said Dorian. "I’m sure he’ll end up visiting at some point."

"Ready to head back in?" she asked.

"I suppose," said Dorian with a sigh. "I'd hate for anyone to get their hopes up and think we'd left."

"Quite," said Mae, linking her arm through his. "Come. Let us see if there are feathers we can ruffle."

An hour or so later, Dorian was ready to leave. He had had enough wine that he was feeling sleepy, and longed for his bed. He had almost reached the grand entrance of the estate, hoping he'd get a chance to take a closer look at the pillars before his carriage arrived, when a shadow fell across his path. Glancing up, he saw the stern countenance of Magister Roe.

"I'm glad I caught you," said Roe, skipping pleasantries. "I thought you'd already left."

"I'm just leaving now," said Dorian. "If there's something you wished to discuss, perhaps we could arrange to meet in a few -"

Dorian stopped mid-sentence as a wave of dizziness overtook him. He must have had more wine than he thought. And he hadn't eaten much ...

"Are you quite alright, Magister Pavus?" said Roe. "You look unwell. Come, you should sit.”

Dorian, his dizziness worsening, felt Roe's grip around his upper arm as he led him to a nearby bench to sit. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on his knees and taking deep breaths as his head spun.

Some time later, he raised his head again. Roe was still standing in front of him.

"Pavus?" said Roe. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yes," said Dorian, whose head was clearing.

"You seemed to not hear me for a moment there," said Roe. "Perhaps you should head home.”

"I will," said Dorian, standing. At least the room was no longer spinning when he did. "Thank you for your assistance."

"Of course," said Roe. "I hope you feel better in the morning. And we will speak soon, I am sure."

"Of course," said Dorian distractedly. "Good evening."

He hurried outside to find that most of the carriages had already left, the moons high in the sky. His own driver was sitting atop his carriage, head nodded forward onto his chest, dozing.

_How late was it_? Dorian wondered.

He opened the door and climbed in, and the door slamming behind him woke the driver.

"My Lord?" he said, peering around.

"Yes," replied Dorian tiredly. "I'm here."

"Will you be heading home?"

"Please," said Dorian. The carriage moved off, and he closed his eyes, his head pounding. 

Next time he would have to make sure to eat more, he thought to himself as he fell asleep.


	15. Friends Like These

Dorian awoke the next morning with a splitting headache. As far as he could remember, he hadn't drunk enough the night before to account for the severity of the hangover currently assaulting him - but then again, the empty stomach could have been to blame.

Groaning, he hauled himself out of bed and began his morning routine, pausing every few minutes to cradle his aching head in his hands.

A servant arrived with coffee, and he gratefully accepted it, momentarily coating his hands with ice to cool the cup so he could drink it more quickly.

He felt a little more like himself after he was dressed and coiffed, and headed out into the bright morning sunshine, squinting. At least the great Magisterium building would be cool and dark, he thought, his eyelids drooping shut as his carriage moved off.

The next thing he knew, his driver was flinging open the carriage door, announcing their arrival. He stepped out, slightly disoriented, and hurried into the blissful cool of the immense building.

The atrium was bustling at this time of day - magisters arriving for meetings or conducting their own affairs in private, slaves hurrying around with food, drinks and supplies they'd been asked to bring, messengers and clerks delivering letters and notes. Dorian kept his head down as he crossed the vast hall, skirting the huge, ornamental fountain, hoping nobody would bother him.

No such luck.

He was almost to the other side when Magister Roe appeared, as if from nowhere.

"Good morning, Pavus," he said. "I trust you're feeling better?"

"Quite, thank you," said Dorian. It was the first time he'd spoken that morning except for brief, muttered thanks to his servants, guards and driver, and his voice sounded loud to his own ears.

"Glad to hear it," said Roe. "Before you begin the business of the day, could you spare a moment?"

Dorian was about to protest, but sighed inwardly before following Roe to his office.

The office was particularly grand, overlooking the central fountain, dark and far too warm. The man always seemed to be cold, and had a roaring fire in his office, even in the height of summer. Dorian took a seat in the chair furthest away from it.

Roe, it seemed, wanted to discuss Dorian’s latest speech in the Magisterium. He had given the speech over a week ago, and was uncertain why Roe wanted to discuss it now.

"I've been considering your proposal," said Roe. "You made a powerful argument. In fact, I'd like to officially endorse your suggestion."

Dorian's eyebrows rose.

"Truly?" he said. "That's quite a change of heart."

"I'm not unreasonable," said Roe. "I've nothing to hide, and anyone who doesn't would hardly object. It's your biggest detractors you need to keep an eye on."

"Well," said Dorian, surprised. "I'd certainly appreciate the support."

"I've had some ideas around it, actually," said Roe. "Allow me a moment to explain."

He opened a drawer in his desk and reached for something - notes, Dorian assumed - and started to speak. After a while, Dorian realised his attention must have wandered, and he hadn't heard a word Roe had said for the last few minutes.

"Pavus?" said Roe, grabbing Dorian's attention. "Do you agree?"

Embarrassed by his lack of focus, Dorian didn't want to admit he had no idea what Roe had said.

"Let me give it some thought," he said, hedging his bets.

"Very well," said Roe. "Though do let me know as soon as possible. I think that concludes our business, unless there was something you wished to discuss?"

"No," said Dorian. "Nothing."

"Excellent," said Roe. "Then I'll let you get on." He gathered some papers on his desk that Dorian didn't remember seeing there when they came in, before standing, a clear sign that he wanted Dorian to leave.

Heading out of the room, Dorian headed not to his own office, but to the room allocated for Mae's use while she was staying in the city. They were to meet with members of their Lucerni party a little later in the morning, and Dorian thought he might be able to catch her for a brief talk before the others arrived.

He was increasingly concerned about his own health. He knew himself, and even with an intense hangover he had never zoned out like that before - not unwillingly, at any rate. Recently, he'd had snatches of time that just seemed to disappear - it wasn't like the times when he'd looked up from a particularly fascinating book to be surprised it had gotten dark; he simply couldn't remember doing anything for those periods. Along with the headaches and tiredness, he had started to wonder if this was something more than a simple hangover.

It _could_ be stress, he thought, as Oscar had gently suggested. He'd been taking a lot on recently, and had fingers in many pies - but he didn't believe it would cause anything like this. He'd had greater concerns before and not buckled under the stress - in fact he considered himself rather good at dealing with pressure. Perhaps Mae would have a more helpful suggestion today beyond 'visit the baths'.

Arriving at her office, he knocked and entered, only to find that the others were already inside - and arguing, if the raised voices he had heard in the corridor were any impression. The magisters meeting today didn't comprise the entirety of the Lucerni, but were the members Dorian and Mae had been working with most closely. They all turned to face him as he entered, a silence falling over the group.

"At last," said Vic, a smirk on his pale, pointed face. "Enjoy Isatis's party a little too much last night, did you?"

Dorian frowned at him. Victor Sellis was one of the youngest members of the Magisterium - younger even than him - and he was intensely proud of the fact. His father had abdicated in favour of his eldest son after a long period of ill-health, and many felt that Vic was rather too young to assume the position. But he had done so, and despite his excessive lifestyle and sarcastic manner, had surprised Dorian and Mae by immediately putting his brand new career - not to mention his life - at risk by publicly declaring his support for them.

An ally was an ally, no matter how much of an arse they were.

"Am I late?" asked Dorian.

"Rather," said Mae. "We've been here quite a while. Needed to sleep in, did you?"

"No," said Dorian. "I was up earlier than usual, actually. Roe wanted a quick word, then I came straight here."

"Must have been more than a quick word," said Vic. "You're almost an hour late."

Dorian was baffled. Had he fallen asleep in Roe's office? He couldn't have, otherwise the man would have noticed, surely...

"My apologies," he said.

"What happened to you last night?" said Mae. "You just disappeared without saying goodbye."

"By the time I left, everyone was gone," said Dorian.

"I left because I couldn't find _you_ ," said Mae. "Where were you?"

"Speaking with Roe," said Dorian.

"Again?" said Vic. "Someone's popular. Does he have a thing for you, or something?"

Dorian levelled a scathing glare at him, before turning back to Mae.

"He simply wished me good evening," he said. "And then - well, I'll tell you about it later." He looked around at the others, who were listening with interest.

"I take it from the noise that your debate has been proving productive?" he said with a raised eyebrow. Perched on the edge of Mae's desk, George let out a boisterous laugh.

Magister Georgiana Aurarius had been fighting for increased funding for the Circles for years. Alexius had been an ally in her fight before his disgrace and exile, and Mae had approached her about joining the Lucerni not long after Alexius had gone south. She had agreed, and had continued to argue passionately against money assigned for education being redirected to the war against the Qunari.

She was a short woman, currently dressed in men's pin-striped robes of deep brown. Dorian preferred not to sit next to her at meetings, because the pervasive smell of cigar smoke seemed to surround her like a shroud, and it clung to his clothes for hours afterwards.

"As productive as they ever are," she said, shifting off the desk to drop heavily into a chair.

"That bad?" said Dorian wryly.

"Perhaps you can talk some sense into young Victor," she said. "While I admire his zeal, he has to realise that simply shouting the loudest isn’t the way to get things done.”

"Yes," said Vic, rising from his seat. "Because simply sending strongly worded letters has worked so well for you so far."

"It _was_ working rather well, actually," said George. "But someone has been signing writs blocking my motions for the last few weeks. I wish I could find out who it was, so I could send them something rather more insistent than a strongly worded letter."

"I've been trying to find out," said Mae. "But everything's locked away."

"Which is why I suggested _my_ bill in the first place," said Dorian. "If we can just get it brought into law, then -"

"Do you know how long it takes to get a bill made law?" said Vic sceptically.

"I do," said Dorian. "Which is why I've been suggesting we focus our efforts there. With that in place, it'll be far harder for people to constantly block our other efforts without exposing themselves in the process."

Dorian's proposal was that the Magisterium should publish its daily proceedings, as well as any resolutions or laws that were passed by the Senate. The transparency would make abuses far more difficult to hide, as well as improve trust among the people.

So far, the idea had not been popular, to say the least.

"I agree," said Bello, who had been quiet until now. His deep, booming voice made them all jump.

"I'd almost forgotten you were there," said George. Bello smiled, his teeth gleaming in his dark face.

"That was the plan," he said.

Bellophantes Duras was one of the Imperium's finest hand-to-hand combat fighters. Some magisters didn't bother with the practice due to the strength of their magic, but there were others that realised their mana was not infinite, and that having some combat skills to fall back on would be useful. Many of them came to Bello for training - Dorian had been trained in his own Circle, as well as by private tutors, but Bello had still managed to give him a few pointers. The man was tall, broad, and lethal.

"Think on it, George," said Mae. "If Dorian's proposal is passed, then the house's budget decisions will be made public. What do you suppose people would say if they knew just how much of a pittance was allocated for education? I think you'd find that support for your ideas would suddenly jump."

"Perhaps you're right," said George, with a frustrated sigh. "And honestly, I'd love to find out who the bloody hell keeps signing off these budget re-allocations. I know Roe is lodging them - or at least, I'd eat my staff if it isn't him - but I can't find anything about who's co-signing."

"It could be just about anyone," said Mae. "But part of Dorian's proposal would mean those names would be made public."

"You can imagine how much the rest of the Magisterium like that idea," said Vic.

"You have a better one?” said Dorian acidly.

"Not right now," said Vic with a shrug. "But I don't think it's the best use of our time. I just don't think they'll go for it. Too many people have too much to lose. They'll never vote for it in a million years, and you know it. At least George's idea has some support already. It'd be better for us to find out who's supporting Roe and get rid of them, and then deal with the rest later."

"This isn't getting us anywhere," said George, tilting her chair onto its back legs.

"So," said Dorian. "What's our next step?"

They looked at each other for some moments.

"You know what I think," said Vic. "Withdraw this pointlessness about a daily newsletter, or whatever it is. Get rid of Roe's little friend, and start putting the screws on him about exactly what he's doing with all this money."

"We _know_ what he's doing with the money," said Mae. "What we don't know is how he's getting it so quickly."

"You didn't hear anything interesting while you were hiding in the gardens, Dorian?" said Vic.

Dorian glanced at Mae, eyebrows raised.

"Don't look at me," she said. "I didn't tell him."

"I was at dear Titus's party," said Vic. "I heard you in the gardens."

"What were you doing out there?"

Vic smirked.

"I was ... networking."

Dorian's frown deepened, before realisation hit him.

"That was _you_ I heard in the bushes?"

"Indeed. A most enjoyable evening. Though some seemed to think you were a bit touched, standing in a hedge talking to yourself."

"If that's the worst thing they say about me today, I shall consider myself fortunate."

"So I take it you were chatting with your Southern paramour?” said Vic. “Care to share exactly how that works? Sounds pretty useful – the sort of thing we could use in our work,” he said pointedly.

“Who knows,” said Dorian. “Perhaps I _am_ just touched, as you put it.”

“Such a shame you can only talk through magic,” said Vic in mock sympathy. “That must be very frustrating. You must need a great deal of alone time.”

"Please," said Dorian dismissively. "I'm quite capable of controlling myself, you know."

"I don't understand why you need to, though," said Vic. "You don't have to act the martyr just because he's far away. You might as well get it out of your system - it's not like he'd find out, anyway."

Dorian stared at him incredulously.

"You _are_ aware we're married?" he said lightly. Vic made a dismissive sound.

"So am I," he said. "You don't _tell_ them, for the Maker's sake."

"I think we have a rather different concept of marriage, Vic," said Dorian. 

"Ah, yes," said Vic, folding his arms. "I'd forgotten that you hold yourself up as some great, inspirational love story. Truly a role model for our times. Bravo."

"I beg your pardon?" said Dorian, his voice dangerously quiet. 

"Come off it," said Vic, his sharp, dark eyebrows knitting together. "Look, I get it - wanting to make a point and all - but you're kidding yourself if you think it matters. You can carry on sneaking around, imagining no one will notice you whispering into your hand, or staring longingly at all the couples at parties, but it won't make the slightest bit of difference when people say your marriage is a lie. And since that's the case, you might as well unshackle the chastity belt and enjoy yourself."

Dorian took a step closer towards him, his hands curling into fists.

"Are you quite finished?" said Mae to Vic. "Sit down, Dorian."

Dorian stepped back, but did not sit.

"Are we done for the day?” said Vic. "I've another appointment. And since this session ran late..." He tailed off, glancing towards Dorian, who rolled his eyes.

"We haven't actually decided what our next actions will be," said Mae. "Are we in agreement about which bills we wish to put our names to, at least?"

Nobody spoke.

"Very well," said Mae with a sigh. "But please have a think before we meet again later in the week. We need to move quickly on this - remember, we'll only make progress by uniting our efforts."

The group nodded at one another before moving to gather their belongings. Vic swept out of the room first, his fine robes whipping behind him. George left next, her arms full of parchment rolls, followed by Bello, who ducked slightly as he passed through the doorframe. Only Dorian remained, leaning against the edge of Mae’s desk.

"That went well," he said acerbically, after the door had closed behind the others. Mae sighed, sinking into her chair.

"About as well as it ever does at the moment," she said. “Don’t let Vic get to you.”

“Oh, I don’t,” said Dorian. “I know he doesn’t really understand what he’s talking about – and I can’t say I’m inclined to correct him. It’s none of his business.”

“Quite,” said Mae.

"I haven't been attempting to make any kind of point - about my marriage, anyway," said Dorian. "Other than pointing out that it exists. I've no wish to make Oscar any more of a target than he already is."

“Do you know what I think?” said Mae. “I think _he’s_ the jealous one. When you left Tevinter, you found something special. Vic is probably like you were at his age, like we all were – he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to be with someone he actually _cares_ for.”

“That’s up to him,” said Dorian. “He’s already making himself unpopular by standing with us. He might as well go all the way and fall in love with someone scandalous.”

“More scandalous than a dwarf, or the Herald of Andraste?”

“Well,” said Dorian. “He probably won’t be able to outdo _us_ , it’s true. But still.” He sat opposite her.

“We didn't accomplish much today,” he said with a sigh.

"Admittedly it was a little chaotic,” said Mae. “But we _are_ making progress, albeit slowly. I thought you were all for George's ideas?"

"I am," he said. "I just think we need some visibility for all of these bills that people are signing. It all feels terribly ... underhanded, at the moment." He laughed harshly. "I know, I know - underhanded business in the Magisterium. What a shocking notion."

Mae smiled.

Dorian sank into his chair, rubbing a hand over his forehead.

"Are you alright?" said Mae. "You seemed a bit off-colour earlier. Enjoyed yourself a bit too much last night?"

"That's the thing," said Dorian. "I don't even remember drinking that much."

"Mmhmm," said Mae, smirking.

"I'm serious," said Dorian. "I know I didn't eat a great deal, but I often drink far more than that and don’t feel this ghastly."

"Getting older is a bore, isn't it?" said Mae sympathetically.

"Please," said Dorian. "I'm hardly old. And - I haven't been feeling myself for a while, actually." Mae's expression became one of concern.

"You've been working very hard," she said. "Could you simply be pushing yourself too much?"

"Maybe," said Dorian. "But I don't think so. I've been through worse. Far worse."

"What do think it could be, then?"

"I don't know," said Dorian. "I was thinking about paying a visit to Master Kew."

"Not a bad idea," she said. "Why don't you take the rest of the day off?"

Dorian considered.

"I have a great deal to do," he said tiredly. "Letters to write, proposals to draft, bills to read - "

"Nothing that can't wait until tomorrow, surely?"

"I suppose," said Dorian eventually. His head was still throbbing, and his concentration would no doubt be dismal. A free afternoon in which to languish in a warm bath and perhaps talk to Oscar, without having to dash out to a meeting or formal affair, sounded heavenly.

"I did promise you the finished draft of our bill, though," he continued.

"I'll forgive you, this once," she said with a wink. "Go on. Visit Kew, and then get an early night."

"Yes, Mother," said Dorian, rising.

"There's no need for insults," said Mae.


	16. All In Your Head

Dorian arrived at the estate of Master Faestus Kew later that afternoon. He had sent a message to the healer, expecting to be told he could see him in a few days’ time - so was surprised when the reply came immediately, inviting him to come right away. 

Kew was one of the most renowned healers in Minrathous. Elderly and aloof, the man had attended generations of magisters and Archons. He had even delivered Dorian himself, back in the day.

There were many other healers working in the city, but Dorian’s suspicions had mounted to the point where he wanted to be sure to see the best. Besides that, he had known Kew most of his life, and while the man might be taciturn and direct, he knew his craft better than anyone.

On his arrival, he was ushered into a long, high-ceilinged corridor by a servant, and instructed to wait outside of Kew’s great door.

Dorian peered around the corridor. The last time he had been here was many years ago, during a minor bout of fever as a child. All of his family had been afflicted, and his father had brought them all immediately to Kew. It was a little over the top bringing them all in for a trifling illness, but Halward had always demanded the best of everything. And Kew was the best.

After a while, his door opened. Dorian knew from experience that this was all the welcome he would get, so he stood, and stepped into the office.

As a boy, he had always been fascinated by Kew’s office, and had to admit to himself that he still was. The huge, dark room had been hewn straight from the rock, with arched, curved ceilings and heavy shelves built into the walls. Bundles of dried plants hung from a metal frame suspended from the ceiling, and one enormous wall was dedicated to obscure books. Vials, jars and bottles filled with a variety of liquids and ointments glittered on the shelves, all labelled in Kew's tiny, impeccable handwriting.

Dorian could have spent hours in here.

Kew himself was seated behind his desk. To Dorian’s eyes he seemed to have changed very little, although his formerly dark grey hair was whiter now.

“Pavus,” he said, and Dorian felt the same jolt of nerves as he had when visiting Kew as a child at the man’s booming tones. “Please sit.”

Dorian sat, and Kew looked up from his notes, his gaze sweeping over Dorian from behind wire spectacles.

“It has been some time,” he said. “I did not think to ever see you become a Magister.”

“Nor I, Master Kew,” said Dorian.

“You are unwell?” said Kew, getting straight to the point.

“I believe so,” said Dorian. “Certainly I do not feel myself, and have not for some time.”

“Describe your symptoms,” said Kew, steepling his long fingers together.

Dorian told him of his tiredness, of the hours at a time that seemed to vanish, the gaps in his memory, the headaches. Kew listened silently, and by the end of Dorian’s recitation was nodding.

“I have seen this many times, working with members of the Magisterium as I do,” he said, standing.

“You have?” said Dorian, nonplussed.

“Yes,” said Kew. “New magisters, such as yourself, are often surprised when they find out - though given the state of our house at the moment, it is hardly unexpected.” He was standing next to Dorian now, and raised a hand, sheathed in white spirit magic.

“This will determine for certain,” he said, and the light intensified.

Dorian felt a squeezing in his head, as though a band were tightening around it, and he gripped the sides of his head, letting out a cry of pain.

“It is as I thought,” said Kew. “You have been placed under the influence of a blood magic ritual.”

Dorian went cold.

“What?” he said in disbelief. “That’s impossible. Surely I would remember such a thing?, Or be aware of it, at the very least?”

“Not at all,” said Kew, returning slowly to his chair. “You said yourself that you have gaps in your memories. It is likely you have simply been commanded not to remember.”

“By whom?” said Dorian, frowning.

“That I cannot tell you,” said Kew. “I can see the presence of the magic, but not its source. The spell itself is unfamiliar to me.”

Fear twisted in Dorian’s gut. If someone truly had this sort of influence over him, he could unknowingly cause great harm. And what sort of magic was this, that someone of Kew's experience had never seen its like?

“What can we do?” he said.

“You must find the mage who performed the ritual,” he said. “Without knowing what it was, we have no hope of reversing it.”

“But it _can_ be reversed?”

“Certainly,” said Kew. “It seems you are being controlled, as opposed to having actually been altered.”

“That’s something of a relief,” he said.

“Indeed,” said Kew. “Though whether that was the instigator’s intention or not, I cannot say,” he added.

“Still, at least I know the truth now,” said Dorian. “I was beginning to think I was losing my faculties."

“From what I hear of you, that would not be surprising,” said Kew, arching an eyebrow.

“I shall take my leave,’ said Dorian, rising. “Thank you for seeing me, Master.”

Kew nodded.

“I will send along a draught which should help clear your head somewhat. But you must find the person who has ensorcelled you quickly. You are a powerful man, now, and through you, they could cause a great deal of damage.”

“Understood,” said Dorian, all too aware of the fact. “Good day, Master.”

He headed out to his carriage, and sped towards home, thinking longingly of a hot bath and a large goblet of wine. He was still reeling from Kew's revelation, and he wanted nothing more than to be alone, somewhere quiet.

“My Lord,” said his servant, hurrying out to meet him as he exited the carriage. “You have visitors.”

“Visitors?” said Dorian, his heart sinking. _What now?_

“Yes, my Lord,” said the servant, hurrying after him. “I told them you had requested not to be disturbed, but they said it was of the utmost importance.”

Dorian sighed.

“Oh, very well,” he said. “Where are they?”

“The morning room, my Lord.”

Dorian hurried off to the morning room, hoping he could get rid of whoever it was quickly. He had fulfilled his various engagements that day – who in the world would want to speak to him this urgently, and about what?

Another servant opened the door as he approached, and he entered to find Mae sitting in a chair in front of the fireplace. George was pacing up and down on the rug, and turned as he entered.

“You!” she said, sweeping towards him. “You _traitor_! How could you?”

Dorian looked back and forth between Mae and George, confused. Mae’s expression was carefully neutral, as though she were still weighing the situation.

“If this is about my comments on Magister Arrae’s formal wear last week, then there’s no need to take it personally,” said Dorian to George. “I assure you, you look far better in it than he does.”

His attempt at humour fell flat as George’s scowl darkened.

“I’m talking about my bill,” she said. “All of my work for the last few years has been building to that bill being lodged, and then of course we discovered it had been over-ridden by Roe’s, because he’d managed to get a sponsor straight away, before I had a chance to submit my final draft."

“I remember,” said Dorian. “You discovered who it was, then?”

She let out a noise of disgust and stalked back to the fireplace.

“I can’t believe you,” she said, running a hand through her messy locks. “I trusted you. All your talk about how things would be different, about how you wanted to make Tevinter better – it was all just talk, wasn’t it?” she stared at him, pain in her eyes.

“I should have listened when they warned me about you,” she said. “They said you had your own agenda, that you were out for your own interests. But Mae told me they were wrong, that you were one of us.”

Mae rose from her chair.

“George,” she said. “Let him speak.”

“Speak about what?” said Dorian angrily. “You both seem to be under the impression that I’m some sort of psychic. What in the name of the Maker are you talking about?”

George grabbed a pile of papers from the table and thrust them at him.

“Here,” she spat. “The papers Roe filed this afternoon, blocking my bill. The papers that needed to be countersigned by another magister.”

Dorian, baffled, read over the papers. Turning over to the second page, he stared in disbelief at his own signature at the bottom of the page.

“I didn’t sign this,” he said, staring at it. Glancing up, he looked at George, her arms folded across her chest, her expression scathing.

“You can say that while holding the evidence in your hands?” she said. “What kind of fool do you take me for?”

“I appreciate how it must look,” said Dorian. “But I can explain.”

“Oh, really?” she said.

“Yes, really,” said Dorian ire rising. The two women looked at him expectantly, and he stepped closer.

“I’ve just returned from a visit to Master Kew,” he said. “He told me – and his test confirmed - that I am under the influence of blood magic.”

Mae and George stared at him. George’s arms unfolded.

“What?” she said. “Who would do such a thing?”

“I don’t know,” said Dorian. “But I intend to find out. And then kill them, naturally.”

“What does this mean?” said Mae, concerned. “Are you in danger?”

“As I’m not familiar with the ritual – and neither was Kew - I couldn’t say,” he said. “But it seems I have been doing things I have no memory of doing. Such as signing this,” he said, indicating George’s papers. 

“There have been other instances, too,” he continued. “Snatches of time where I seem to have suddenly – come out of a trance.” He shook his head.

“I should have realised sooner,” he said. “I know blood magic when I see it. At least, I usually do.”

“Not if they’ve been affecting your memory,” said Mae. “If you couldn’t remember, you couldn’t have suspected.”

“True, I suppose,” said Dorian heavily.

“Are you alright?” said Mae gently.

“Of course not,” said Dorian. “I’m worried what they might use me for without my knowledge. I’d lock myself away, but I need to pursue this. I must find them, and stop this.”

“Perhaps we can help,” said George.

“Oh?” said Dorian. “I thought I was only _out for my own interests_.” George looked abashed.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I suppose one gets so used to being stabbed in the back here - ” 

“Distrusting one another will get us nowhere,” said Dorian. “I know it’s standard operating procedure in the Magisterium, but that’s exactly what they want. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if whoever’s behind this is trying to divide us.” One side of his mouth quirked up in a smile.

“Excellent,” he said. “We must be more of a threat to them than I thought.”

“What will you do?” said Mae.

“I believe a visit to Magister Roe is in order,” said Dorian. “Whether he’s involved or not, I find it impossible that he wouldn’t know something. This is his bill,” he said, brandishing the papers. “And each time I’ve had a strange turn, he seems to have been there, as though he appeared out of thin air. I actually thought he was helping me, trying to protect me in some way, but now … " He handed the papers back to George.

“Either way, he must have answers,” he said.

“You can’t visit him alone,” said George. “If he _is_ involved, then he can control you. Or at least, is involved with someone who can.”

“True,” admitted Dorian.

“We’ll go together,” said Mae. “I’ll get the others.” She placed a hand on Dorian’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. This ritual will be broken.”

Dorian nodded at her, smiling.

Some hours later, having assembled their allies and a couple of Templar guards for good measure, they arrived at Roe’s grand estate. They had headed to the Magisterium first, and were advised he had left for the day.

Arriving at his estate, his housekeeper informed them that his master had left the city.

“For what purpose?” demanded Dorian.

“My Lord does not tell me all of his affairs,” said the servant imperiously, peering around at the heavily armed group on his doorstep. “He only said that it was highly important business and that he must leave at once.”

“But of course,” said Dorian. “He must have found out about my visit to Kew.”

“It’s him, then?” said Vic, leaning on his staff. “Looks pretty clear-cut to me.”

“It appears so,” said Dorian. “But we need proof. I’ll look into where he might have gone.”

“How will you find him?” said George. “He could be anywhere. He’s not fool enough to go to one of his own estates.”

“I have … _friends_ , who might be able to shed some light on the matter,” said Dorian. “In the meantime, at least he won’t be bothering me.”

“You don’t know that,” said Mae cautiously. “I don’t believe I’ve heard of a blood ritual like this before. I have no idea over what sort of range it could work.”

“I’ve only been affected when he’s been close by, so far,” said Dorian, stroking his chin. “I believe I need to be in his presence, or at least nearby, for it to work.”

“Well, that’s something,” said Mae. “But nevertheless, you might want to think about increasing the number of guards around your estate.”

“Alright,” said Dorian with a sigh. He looked around at everyone.

“Thank you for coming along,” he said. “Even if we didn’t find him. I appreciate that, without proof, this is something of a gamble on all of your parts.”

“Roe has been shady for a while now,” came Bello’s resonant voice. “I’ve had people keeping an eye on him, but he’s been clean.”

“Outwardly, at least,” said Dorian, as they headed back to the carriages. “I thought he was just being irritatingly diligent about his work.”

“In a manner of speaking,” said Mae. “He was.”

Dorian smirked.

“Ugh,” he said with a sigh. “I’m exhausted. Time for bed, I think.”

“I’ll come around to yours tomorrow morning,” said Mae, as Dorian got into his own carriage. Her expression turned doubtful.

“Are you sure you should be alone?” she said. “Perhaps you should come and stay with me.”

“I’ll be fine,” said Dorian. “I shall instruct my guards to tackle me to the ground if I set foot outside my rooms until the morning.”

“I thought they were supposed to _dis_ courage you from leaving?” said Vic, an eyebrow raised, smirk firmly in place.

“Young Victor,” said Dorian, shaking his head. “It is far less alluring than you might think to be crushed by several men in plate armour when you’re clad only in pyjamas. Not to mention, several of my household guards are women.”

“That sounds alright to me,” said Vic. Dorian made a face.

“On that note,” he said. “Time for me to go.”

Dorian arrived back at his estate a short time later, and stripped out of his elaborate robes, dropping them into a heap next to his basin. Rolling his neck, he looked at himself in the mirror.

Maker, he looked dreadful. At least he now knew why, though, and could take steps to resolve it.

Having washed, he finally flopped down on his bed. He was exhausted, but his mind still buzzed with everything that had happened that day. And before he turned in for the night, there was someone important who needed to know about the day’s revelations.

Minutes later, he was staring sleepily at the glowing crystal in his hand.

“Come on,” he muttered. “Answer.”

“Dorian?” came Oscar’s voice, sounding slightly winded.

“ _Amatus_?” said Dorian. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Of course not,” said Oscar. “I was just with people. Just thought I’d wander off a bit, so we could talk.”

“Ah.”

“How are you?”

“Oh, you know, perfectly well,” said Dorian. “Oh, except that it seems I’m under the influence of a blood magic ritual designed to control my mind and alter my memories.”

There was a pause.

“What?” said Oscar weakly. “Dorian – are you serious?”

“Yes, I am.”

“But – how is that possible? When did this happen?” He sounded livid, and Dorian couldn’t help but be warmed at his _amatus’s_ outrage on his behalf.

“I don’t know exactly when,” he said. “But I’d say a few months, perhaps, based on how long I’ve been feeling unwell.”

“So you _have_ been unwell,” said Oscar, and Dorian mentally kicked himself.

“Nothing serious. Headaches, dizziness. I should have realised magic was involved – as though I would be so feeble as to let a little hard work get to me like that.”

“Well, quite,” said Oscar, though he didn’t sound reassured. “How did you find out?”

“I visited a healer,” said Dorian.

“You left it this long? Dorian, you are simply the _worst_ patient. Not that I didn’t already know that.”

Dorian smiled, rolling over to a more comfortable position.

“True enough,” he said. “I did wonder if it might just pass. When it worsened, I went.”

“I knew something was wrong,” said Oscar quietly.

“I know you did,” said Dorian. “It was because of you that I went, actually.”

“Because of me?”

“Well, among other things,” said Dorian. “But yes – no one here really knows me like you do, and even hundreds of miles away you knew something wasn’t right.”

“So what will you do?” said Oscar.

“I believe I know who’s responsible,” said Dorian. “If it isn’t him, he must still be involved somehow. I went to confront him earlier, but he’s conveniently gone to ground.”

“Tell me you didn’t go alone,” said Oscar.

“Of course not,” scoffed Dorian. “What do you take me for? Mae and the others came with us, as well as a few Templars. But he’d already fled by the time we arrived.”

“He’ll turn up,” said Oscar.

“I don’t doubt it,” said Dorian. “He obviously still needs me for something, or he’d have killed me already.”

“Don’t say things like that, Dorian,” said Oscar.

“Sorry,” he said. “But it’s true. And in a way, it’s useful. It gives us a little more time.” He hesitated.

“Are you alright?” said Oscar.

“No,” said Dorian. “It’s frightening to think that someone out there can make me do things against my will, things I don’t even remember. Who knows what things I’ve already done that I don’t even know about?”

“Did you find out anything about it?”

“So far, it seems Roe has just been using me to countersign his bloody writs,” said Dorian. “It’s all about timing, you see. If he gets his bill in first, co-signed by another Magister, it gets passed, before anyone else gets a chance. So by the time George filed hers, Roe had beaten her to it, and had already secured the funding she was hoping for for his war effort.”

“So they’re just using your status?”

“Yes,” said Dorian. “Frankly, I’m insulted. Anyone who has _me_ at their disposal should be doing a lot more with me than simply signing paperwork. All that intellect and power, and it’s only my signature they’re using. Such a waste.”

“I wouldn’t complain,” said Oscar, sounding amused.

“I suppose not,” said Dorian, suddenly feeling tired.

“What of you, _amatus_?” he said, letting his eyes drift shut. “What have you been up to?”

Oscar hesitated - only for a moment, but it was enough.

“Oh, you know,” he said lightly. “This and that.”

Dorian’s eyes opened again.

“Oscar,” he said, sitting up, a question in his voice.

“Yes?”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“What do you mean?”

“I _mean_ you’re up to something.”

“Of course I’m not.”

Oscar was the worst liar Dorian had ever met. He was too expressive to entirely hide his true feelings - on occasion he had been able to bluff his way through certain situations, but when it came to his feelings, especially with someone who knew him as well as Dorian did, he was an open book.

“ _Oscar_.”

His husband sighed.

“Well,” he said hesitantly. “Remember how a little while back you were telling me about the Minrathous Circle of Magi, and how you wished I could see it for myself?”

“Yes?” said Dorian, his eyes narrowing.

“Well … you might get to show it to me sooner than you thought.”

Dorian paused.

“Where are you?” he said eventually. Oscar didn’t reply for a moment.

“Well?” said Dorian.

“We’ve just passed the Silent Plains,” said Oscar sheepishly.

“What?” said Dorian. “You’ve – _what_?”

“I told you,” said Oscar. “I knew something was wrong. I couldn’t just sit at home.”

“And when were you going to tell me about this mad journey of yours?”

“Soon,” said Oscar. “I hadn’t decided exactly when … Sera said we should surprise you and just turn up on your doorstep, but I –“

“Sera is with you?”

“She is.”

“And who else?”

“A couple of others, who came along to help. You’ll meet them soon enough.”

“I suppose I shall,” said Dorian. “Maker’s breath, Oscar. As though this hadn’t been a day of surprises already.”

“Sorry,” said Oscar. “I didn’t mean to spring it on you like that.”

“I suppose I was never going to keep you away forever, was I?” said Dorian. Oscar chuckled.

“No,” he said warmly. “I’m afraid not.”

“How has the journey been, with your arm and all?”

“Fine,” said Oscar, slightly defiantly. “Well, a little more tiresome than usual, in places. Horses have been particularly fun. But I’ve managed.”

“Of course you have,” said Dorian. “How far are you from Minrathous?”

“A week or so, I’d guess,” said Oscar.

“I see,” said Dorian. “Well, in that case, I shall see you in a week’s time, then.”

“You will,” said Oscar, and Dorian could hear the smile in his voice. “But keep in touch in the meantime. With this blood magic affecting you, anything could happen.”

“Don’t worry, _amatus_ ,” said Dorian. “I’ll keep you updated. And – " He broke off, yawning loudly. “I shall see you soon.”

“Yes,” said Oscar. “You will. Now, get some rest. I love you.”

“And I, you,” said Dorian. “Safe travels.”

The crystal went dark, and Dorian clicked the locket shut gently.

He settled into bed, excitement overtaking his previous exhaustion. He couldn’t find it in himself to be too annoyed with Oscar for turning up out of the blue. He _should_ be annoyed – Oscar was walking right into the middle of a very volatile and dangerous situation – but he wasn’t above admitting that he was afraid of what was to come, and of what blood magic could do to his mind.

The thought of Oscar being here – actually _being_ here within a week - made his heart skip a beat. It had been years since he’d held him, or been held; been touched or kissed by anyone except polite kisses on the cheek at parties. That the years of loneliness and longing were about to come to an end filled Dorian with a joy he hadn’t felt in years.

Despite the worry hanging over him, and the dark magic that had wormed its way into his head, Dorian went off to sleep feeling more relieved than he had in a long time.


	17. On My Way

_An excerpt from the personal journal of Lord Oscar Trevelyan, 9:46 Dragon_

 

12th Kingsway 

I haven't had a chance to write for a while - I'm writing this in my tent, just north of the Silent Plains. I'm just pleased we're finally across the Plains themselves - miles and miles of flat, blighted land with no landmarks in sight except rocks and dead, twisted trees. No wonder Dorian called so often when his carriage was crossing these parts - he must have been bored out of his mind. There were only so many times he could read the few books he had with him.

The weather for the most part has been decent, though we did encounter a particularly vicious storm near Tantervale that soaked us all to the skin. Still, if getting drenched is the worst thing that happens to us on this journey, we should consider ourselves lucky. We've been travelling almost constantly since we left Kirkwall, stopping only to eat, sleep and let the horses rest. We're almost at the border of the Imperium, and decided to camp for the night, so I have a little time to catch up.

Dorian knows we're on our way. I couldn't keep it from him any longer - it's been increasingly difficult to hide the background noise from him when we've spoken recently; he thinks I've become some sort of social butterfly, spending all my time in taverns. Now we're in the wilderness it's easier, but still - I had rather wanted to keep it a surprise until we were actually in Minrathous, but after he told me about the spell that's upon him, I wanted him to know we were coming.

He told me that someone placed a blood magic curse on him, and they've been controlling him without his knowledge for weeks. I can hardly believe it - more than anything, I'm furious with myself for not realising how serious things were. I knew something was wrong, but this?

I suppose I shouldn't be totally shocked. Dorian has told me time and again of the dangers of Tevinter, of how rife the place is with blood magic and scheming, but still, I didn't think something like _this_ would happen to him. I suppose you never do, until it happens to someone you love. 

Sera was disappointed I told Dorian we were on our way. I think she wanted to turn up on his doorstep and give him a shock … with everything that's been happening, I told her it was far more likely his guards would murder us on the spot before we had even a remote chance to do any shocking. She knows Minrathous, though, and has contacts there who might come in very useful.

Belinda asked if Dorian was happy we were coming - I didn't really have an answer for that. I told him because I wanted to reassure him that he wouldn't have to deal with everything alone for much longer - but I may well have added to his burdens. Fortunately, our journey so far has been uneventful, so hopefully that will continue - though naturally we're more on our guard the closer we get to the Imperium.

I'm glad Belinda agreed to come along - she's visited Tevinter before, and her Templar skills will be invaluable should we run into any trouble. (And we almost certainly will.) Not to mention that she knows Maevaris, and has worked with her before. I felt rather bad pulling her away from her work assisting Cullen with setting up his clinic, but she assured me he was doing very well, and could spare her for as long as she was needed. She admitted the other day that now Cullen is established she felt somewhat surplus to requirements, and was itching to get back into active service again, feeling her talents were going to waste, despite how satisfying she had found the work at the clinic.

I'll confess - I'm a little jealous. Belinda fights with a sword and shield, like I do - or at least I did. I'm not above admitting that seeing her ease with them stings a little. I'm doing much better, but still - relying on her to defend us, should we come under attack, wounds my pride a little. Not that I'm entirely unable to defend myself - though fortunately I haven't had cause to since we left Kirkwall. As Sev keeps saying - it's only a matter of time. Also, the mages of Tevinter aren't familiar with southern Templar abilities, which gives us quite the advantage - one we wouldn't otherwise have, even if I were at full strength.

We have quite a bit in common, Belinda and I. I often think to myself that her life's story might well have been my own, had I followed along with my parents' wishes for me to join the Order. Belinda is the second youngest of four children from a noble house in Starkhaven, so the expectations upon her were practically the same as on me. We might have even been friends as youths had she not embraced her life as a Templar and left for training at a young age - my father knows Lord Darrow well. She's sparred with me a few times on the road - she's rather less tough on me than Brennan was, but not as soft as I'd expected. I'm glad she's on our side, I must say.

I'm glad Sev and I cleared the air before we left, otherwise this entire journey would have been rather awkward. He came along to look after the horses and assist with hunting, camping and so on. I still find riding rather challenging with the one arm, and neither Sera nor Belinda have much experience handling horses, so it's fortunate he's here.

Still, though, I can't entirely shake the feeling that he volunteered to come so he could continue keeping an eye on me. I've been wondering if Max asked him to come - if that's so, then I'd prefer to believe that he did it out of concern for me, rather than wanting Sev to send information home about Dorian. If Max wants to know about his brother-in-law, then he should just ask me - but that's Max for you.

Sev mentioned he was looking forward to meeting Dorian. I don't quite know how I feel about it yet, to be honest - it'll certainly be strange. Not because of any rivalry between them, or anything of the sort - it's just ... what happened with Sev feels like a lifetime ago, and in a way it was. Sometimes it feels like it all happened to someone else. Dorian is the most important person in my life, and for them to meet each other will be ... a little surreal, I suppose.

Belinda asked about Sev, after a couple of innuendo-laden comments from Sera. She wasn't prying, merely curious, but still. I think I told her enough to satisfy her curiosity. I hope so, anyway. They don't need to know everything that happened - it was a long time ago, and he's changed. We both have. He's here to help, and it doesn't seem fair to dredge up things that happened years ago.

Even Dorian doesn't know everything. He knows about Sev and I, of course, that he was my first - I told him years ago, but I didn't see the need to tell him all of the gory details. And now he's going to meet Sev, I don't want them to set off on the wrong foot. Once they've had a chance to get to know each other a bit, perhaps I'll fill in the gaps.

Belinda's a lovely woman, though. Always so upbeat. Sera has spent half the journey complaining about her relentless cheer, and the other half watching her clean her weapons and attend to her armour with stars in her eyes. Belinda’s certainly a sight - tall, strongly muscled under her enormous plate, long strawberry-blonde hair. I reminded Sera she was spoken for, and she simply shrugged and said she was taken, not dead. She asked whether I still notice handsome men, especially with Dorian so far away.

I mean - I have eyes, so certainly I recognise attractiveness, but - it isn't the same, not any more. I notice it, of course, but I just don't care. They aren't him. ...I'm not sure whether that's terribly romantic or a little pathetic. Perhaps both?

The distance has been difficult. I have to admit, with every step since we left Kirkwall, I've been feeling better and better. Knowing we're on our way, that soon I'll be holding him again, hearing his voice in person and not just through the crystal - it makes me feel like a giddy teenager. I keep thinking of all the little things I usually try and push out of my mind because it hurts too much - the feel of his lips, the exact colour of his eyes, the softness of his hair. He mentioned he's been growing it - I can't wait to see it, and touch it, for myself.

I know I can't stay there forever, but these years apart have been almost unbearable. I don't ever want to go this long without seeing him again. And with everything that's happened, as well as the stress he's been under... hopefully, this trip will do us both good. There was a time I never imagined writing about such feelings, unless I was talking about a story I'd read, or the circumstances of a friend or relative. It's been years, and sometimes it still hits me, just how lucky I am, despite everything.

I think we're less than a week from Minrathous at the moment, if my maps are correct. That's why we've had to start camping outside of cities or towns - further south, we were staying in taverns and bunkhouses, but the closer we get to the Tevinter border the more attention we draw, especially travelling with elves. We had a run in with some Imperial soldiers a couple of days ago, but managed to pass ourselves off as merchants, which was when the current plan was born.

While it makes me uncomfortable, I can see the necessity of it, and it _was_ Sera's idea. The idea is that Belinda and I are travelling traders, bringing Sera and Sev to the Imperium to sell. A deeply horrible thought, but the pretense allows us to move unimpeded. A little gold to the gate guards and we should have no problem getting into the city with our "charges".

I'm keen to get moving again at first light. Knowing we're so close, I want to get to the city as soon as possible. With this spell on Dorian, anything could happen - I think he got a little annoyed with my constant calls when I first found out. Indeed, on the second day, he banned me from calling again until nightfall. I couldn't help it. What if whoever's doing this makes him hurt himself? Or forces him to do something which could get him into serious trouble? I just want to be there.

At least this Magister Roe is still out of the city. That should mean Dorian's safe, at least for the time being. At least, I hope so.

We had a decent enough rabbit stew for dinner tonight. Sev went hunting for the rabbits, and Sera made the stew itself. It filled our bellies, but I've never been a fan of rabbit, to be honest. I'll admit, I'm looking forward to trying Tevinter cuisine - Dorian has told me so much about it over the years that I've been practically drooling at the thought of trying everything. Not that I imagine we'll have much time for sightseeing, unfortunately - my hope is that we can resolve the situation as quickly as possible, and then hopefully I will be able to remain for a short while.

I’m also looking forward to seeing the city itself. Not just because Minrathous is the oldest and largest city in Thedas, with an extraordinary history, but also because of how much it means to Dorian. I know how proud he is of Tevinter's culture and history, and how much he's sacrificing to do what he can to make it a better place. To see the place he holds so dear with my own eyes will be wonderful.

We'll need to be careful, though. My arm (or lack thereof) will make me stand out, and I can't imagine Dorian's enemies haven't heard about it. I have all of my spares in my pack, and have taken to wearing the plain hand at all times while we travel. It makes my shoulder ache terribly to wear it all the time, but it's necessary. The salve I have helps considerably, but my supplies are running low, so I try to use it sparingly. I also have a fetching hooded cloak to cover it, which I'm sure will just be lovely to wear in the stifling Tevinter heat.

I think I'll sign off here. Assuming the rest of our journey passes without incident, I should be in my husband's arms within a week. And on that wonderful note, I'm going to get some sleep before it's my turn to keep watch.


	18. Hearts Both Whole

_Minrathous_

Dorian Pavus was not nervous. He did not _get_ nervous. Or so he told himself, as he paced the floor of his study for the umpteenth time that afternoon. His current antsy mood was merely down to anticipation, coupled with the constant thoughts of the blood magic ritual currently afflicting him. He certainly wasn’t _nervous_.

Oscar had spoken with him a short time previously, and had informed him that they were only a day away from the city. He would be here tomorrow. The very thought almost made Dorian want to clap his hands in glee – except that it would be terribly undignified for a magister to do so, of course.

Preparations were complete - he had asked his kitchen staff to prepare a southern dish for dinner along with their usual fare, and they had raised their eyebrows at the idea of making one of the heavy stews Oscar so liked. Dorian planned to introduce him to proper Tevinter cuisine, of course, but he still wanted to make the gesture of giving him a little something from home. Having lived in the south for so long himself, he knew exactly what it felt like to be the stranger in a strange land.

Now all that was left to do was wait.

Dorian was not fond of waiting. And after two years of waiting, somehow these last few days had been the most difficult of all.

He also found his mind straying to more physical concerns, now he knew his _amatus_ was only a few days away. One of the hardest parts about being apart from Oscar for so long had been the frustration that had built over time, which had often lead to Dorian waking up aching, longing to be touched. It was the longest he had gone without since his first time. It was maddening, infuriating - and entirely his own fault.

He had made his decision, and now he had to live with it. Victor had not been entirely wrong when he'd accused Dorian of jealousy – it wasn't the succession of partners Dorian envied nowadays, but the intimacy. To fall asleep next to someone, and wake up to sleepy kisses and a warm embrace. Dorian almost missed those things more than the sex – and knowing he would be held, soon, by someone who loved him, brought a smile to his face that he didn’t seem to be able to get rid of.

And besides, Oscar had entirely ruined him for anyone else. The only person he wanted touching him in such a way was his husband - and now it seemed that finally the long, long wait was coming to an end.

Hurrying from the room, he headed to his chambers to check on his supplies of massage oils. Once the unpleasant business of the blood magic was taken care of, he intended to finally take the time to relax that Mae had suggested – and this time, not alone.

 

_Minrathous (outskirts)_

"Should be able to see the city soon," said Sera, slightly breathlessly.

"I can't wait to see it," said Belinda. "I've heard it's so big it stretches farther than the eye can see! I wasn't able to visit the last time I was in Tevinter."

They finally crested the hill, and suddenly, the great city lay before them. Oscar stopped dead, his eyes widening.

 _Big_ had been an understatement.

Across the water, the city stretched far into the distance, its dark, pointed towers reaching impossibly high into the sky, magical lights twinkling in their many windows, their brightness visible even in the strong sunshine. In front of the imposing city gates stood the three immense golems guarding the entrance. Dorian had waxed lyrical on many an occasion about how extraordinary Minrathous was, and looking at it with his own eyes for the first time, Oscar began to understand why.

He exchanged a look with Severin. Even the usually taciturn elf had his eyebrows raised as he took in the view.

"We made it!" said Belinda brightly.

“Well, not quite,” said Oscar. "We still need to actually get in."

"The plan'll work,” said Sera. "We'll trick 'em good."

They continued on, and just before approaching the huge bridge that connected the city to the mainland, they ducked into a side alley to prepare.

“I’m sorry. Truly," said Oscar to Sera. She sighed, and held up her hands.

"You'd better buy me a friggin' massive honey cake for this," she said, as Oscar fastened the shackles around her wrist.

"The biggest," he said, smiling gently. She smiled back.

Next to them, Belinda had finished fastening Severin's shackles. Sera glanced back and forth between him and Oscar, an impish grin spreading across her face.

"Bring back good memories?" she said, before giggling filthily.

"We never tied each other up," said Severin bluntly, with a shrug.

"Shame," said Sera.

"Indeed," said Severin.

"Do you mind?" said Oscar, his cheeks turning pink.

"Aww, look at you, blushing," she said. "It was a million years ago, wasn't it?"

"Yes," said Oscar. "So perhaps we could talk about something else?"

"Ooh, touchy," said Sera. "Whatever. Let's get going."

Oscar and Belinda walked in front, leading the two elves behind them. As they joined the throng of people crossing the bridge, no one spared them much of a glance. Slavers arriving in the city with their charges were hardly an unusual sight. Sera's shining armour plates were currently weighing down Oscar's pack, and Oscar himself had donned his ordinary-looking arm, a cloak covering the shoulder. In the heat of the afternoon sun the cloak was almost stifling, but it kept the straps and buckles of his prosthetic hidden.

The guards didn't say a word to them as they passed, and Oscar breathed a sigh of relief as they passed through the huge gates and into the city.

They followed the crowd along to the central marketplace, and Oscar stared around in awe. The main square was filled with stalls of all kinds, the scents of spices, food, herbs and incense mingling in the air.

They crossed the vast plaza, looking around at the wares for sale - flashing, magical lanterns, huge jars of alchemical ingredients, stacks of books and scrolls, bright rolls of fabric, skewers of spiced meats, musky-smelling incense and oils, salves and potions, glittering jewellery and dozens of other items. Oscar could hardly take it all in. The air seemed to crackle with magic - he was used to the sensation to a point, having spent years fighting alongside mages and bearing the Anchor, but had never been surrounded by it to such an extent. No wonder Dorian had found the south mundane - it must have felt so still and lifeless at first, after living here.

Some of the buildings surrounding the marketplace had seen better days - chunks of masonry littered the ground around one particularly decrepit structure, a group of workers standing around it deep in discussion. Another ancient building seemed to have an entire tower that had broken away from the main structure, and was now held in place only by magic, floating in mid-air. The effect was oddly unsettling. Sera kicked at the crumbled stones in her path, sending them skittering across the ground. A nearby stallholder, draped in violet fabric, frowned in their direction at the sound.

Oscar followed Severin's gaze over to the corner of the marketplace, which was occupied by a small number of slavers. One of them caught Oscar’s eye and nodded in recognition, having spotted the elves chained behind him. Oscar looked away from him. Only a few slaves sat around the stall, clearly in excellent health and dressed in clean, new clothes.

"They don't keep ‘em all here," said Sera in a low voice, looking in the same direction. "The nobles don't like looking at 'em while they're shopping for shiny stuff. There's a slave market, near the slums."

"Ah," said Oscar. His heart twisted at the sight, and he was glad his hood obscured his expression.

Belinda's jaw twitched, as though she either wanted to cry, or punch the slavers in the face.

Once through the market, they found themselves at a carriage stop, a broad thoroughfare stretching before them. Pulling Sera and Severin into an alcove, the others removed their shackles.

"I suppose this is where we part company, for a time," said Oscar. "Are you sure you'll be alright?" he said to Sera.

"'Course," she said. "I know people here. And besides, everyone'll just think we're slaves. We keep our heads down, look like we're working, they won't give us a second look."

"And if they ask about your bow?"

"Simple," she said. "My master's into hunting, and I'm getting it restrung for him."

"You've thought of everything," said Oscar.

"You have to, places like this. Anyway, go on," she said, pointing at the carriages. "Go find hubby. See you later."

The two of them headed off down a narrow side street, and Belinda turned to Oscar.

"Excited?" she said, grinning.

"Perhaps," said Oscar, unable to hide a smile of his own.

"I bet!" she said. "Well, you have a lovely time, and I'll be where we agreed."

"I'll be in touch," he said. "Enjoy your sightseeing," he added. Belinda had wanted a better look around the city, so she was taking the opportunity to be a tourist while Oscar visited Dorian. She left, striding back towards the marketplace as Oscar headed for a nearby carriage.

His heart started to beat faster as he asked the driver to take him to Dorian's estate. In a few minutes, he would be there - they would be together again. Once inside the carriage, he pulled off the heavy cloak, stuffing it into his pack and raking his hands through his hair, mussed from the cloak's hood.

Oscar took a deep, shaky breath, completely oblivious to the view from the carriage as it sped him towards Dorian's home. He couldn’t help the nerves, which had made it impossible for him to eat anything so far today.

It had been a long time since they had seen each other, even though they spoke regularly. Would Dorian look very different? Did _he_? Dorian had mentioned he had grown his hair, but Oscar didn’t know exactly what he looked like now, despite his drawing …

He also couldn’t help but wonder if things would feel any different between them. Oscar had no doubts that they loved each other as much as ever, but after so long apart, would things be … awkward?

He peered out of the window in an attempt to distract himself. The tall buildings began to thin out as they headed towards another part of the city – what he had heard Dorian refer to as the Gilded Quarter.

The houses he could see began to get bigger, and grander, with sculpted hedges and twisted, ornamental statues lining the roads to the front door. The further out they headed, the taller and more threatening the huge, spiked gates to each estate became.

Soon enough – sooner than he would have liked, given his mounting nerves – the carriage drew to a halt, and he stepped out.

For a moment, he wondered if he was in the right place.

From behind an enormous pair of gates topped with black, metal snakes, Oscar could see a house at the end of the driveway. _House_ almost didn’t seem like an adequate description – in the south, this would have been a palace.

Oscar approached, and a heavily-armoured guard stepped forward, hand on the pommel of his sword. 

“Name?” he said tersely.

“Oscar Trevelyan,” said Oscar, wondering if he was going to have to explain who he was – and why he was here - to this man.

But the man didn’t say another word, merely pushing the gate open for Oscar, who walked through.

“Thank you,” said Oscar. The guard nodded, clanging the gate shut behind him. Oscar looked at the view ahead of him.

The estate was clearly ancient, but well cared for, lacking the crumbling walls and vine-covered pillars Oscar had seen nearby on other estates. The building was low, white with a deep terracotta roof, tall pillars along the façade.

Oscar tugged the locket out from his collar and popped it open.

“Dorian,” he hissed. “Are you home?”

“I am,” came Dorian’s voice after a few moments. “Why, where are you?”

“Just inside your gate,” said Oscar. “I think.”

“Did the guard let you in? Stern fellow, doesn’t know how to smile?”

“That sounds about right.”

“Ah - then you’re here.”

“I am,” said Oscar. “See you in a few moments, then.”

“Indeed,” said Dorian. Oscar could almost hear him smiling. He clicked his locket shut.

Hefting his pack onto his shoulder, he set off down the long, wide path.

As he walked, looking at the immense estate before him, Oscar remembered that this wasn’t even the family’s _main_ estate, merely their residence in the capital - Dorian had mentioned at least two others, in Qarinus and Asariel.

_Sweet Maker._

He paused as he reached about halfway down the tree-lined approach to the main entrance, and ducked behind a beautifully manicured hedge to collect himself.

The walk had been long, the sun beating down on him, and he yanked a handkerchief out of his pack to mop his forehead. He hadn’t wanted to be reunited with Dorian while he was hot and dusty from his travels, but it couldn’t be helped.

He pulled a small hand mirror out of the pack and peered at himself, before shrugging, and shoving it back in. He looked as good as he was going to, given the length of his journey, and he had already waited long enough to see Dorian.

Stepping back onto the path, he started to grin as he approached the main house. He was here, he was actually _here_ , after all this time.

Ahead of him, he could see someone approaching in the opposite direction. They were too far away to make out yet, but he supposed Dorian had sent a servant to meet him. He squinted in the bright sun as the person got closer.

As realisation dawned on him, he stopped, staring at the approaching figure in disbelieving joy, before breaking into a run, his heavy pack bouncing against his back. Almost blinded by the sun and his own tears, he saw Dorian do the same.

As they reached one another, Oscar jogged to a stop and opened his arms, his entire body shaking as Dorian, with a great laugh, closed the remaining distance between them and flew into his embrace.

Oscar held him as close as he could manage, and Dorian squeezed him so tightly he lifted him slightly off the ground. They remained like that, arms wrapped around each other, for several moments, each breathing the other in.

“I missed you so much,” Oscar said once he could speak again, clasping Dorian close with his good arm. “So much.”

“Obviously,” said Dorian, and Oscar let out a watery chuckle into Dorian’s collar. Hearing his voice in person, and not just through his crystal, brought fresh tears to Oscar’s eyes. After a moment, Dorian pulled back slightly so they could look at each other, grinning like fools.

“You didn’t have to come down here,” said Oscar, eyes roaming over Dorian’s face. Aside from his changed hairstyle, he looked much the same – perhaps the fine lines at the corner of his eyes were a little deeper, but otherwise his beloved face was unchanged. Oscar looked into his silvery eyes feeling pure happiness shoot through him like a drug.

“I couldn’t wait any longer,” said Dorian, still clasping Oscar’s upper arms. “ _Two years_ , _amatus_.” He moved his hands up to cradle Oscar’s face, his thumb brushing lightly over a cheekbone, before leaning in to kiss him.

Any worry Oscar might have had about potential awkwardness between them fell away as Dorian kissed him, his mouth hot and demanding. Oscar reached up to touch the dark waves fastened at the crown of Dorian’s head, running his fingers through the ends of the silky strands. He felt hyperaware of every little touch, every sensation - Dorian's hand buried in his hair, the other gripping his waist, the brush of his moustache against Oscar's own lip.

Eventually, breathing hard, they broke apart.

“Welcome to Tevinter,” said Dorian breathlessly. Oscar laughed, still overflowing with joy at hearing Dorian's voice again.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Let me look at you,” Dorian said fondly, eyes raking over every inch of Oscar’s face.

“I look the same,” he said, blushing slightly under the intense scrutiny. “But look at you! Look at your hair!”

“I thought it was time for something different,” said Dorian with a shrug.

“I like it,” said Oscar, tugging gently on the ponytail again. “It suits you.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” said Dorian. “And you hardly look _exactly_ the same.” He glanced down to the prosthetic hand.

“Ah, yes,” said Oscar, lifting it. “I thought I’d better attempt to blend in a little.”

“It’s remarkable,” said Dorian, smiling.

“I have others,” said Oscar.

“Indeed?”

“Oh, yes. I can even hold some things, now.”

“You must show me.”

“I will.”

”Are you alone?”

“I am,” said Oscar.

"Where are the others?" asked Dorian.

"I'm not sure," said Oscar. "They said they'd make themselves scarce for a while."

"That was good of them," said Dorian. "So who came with you, exactly? Aside from Sera?"

"You recall Belinda, the templar who came here to assist Maevaris a few years back? She came. And one of my brother's men, who’s helped me out a bit over the last few years."

"Well, I'm glad you didn't travel alone," said Dorian. He took Oscar's hand.

"Come," he said. “Let’s get out of this heat. You’ve travelled a long way - perhaps a dip?”

“A dip?”

“I think so,” said Dorian. “And something to eat, of course. It’ll be a fine chance for you to get refreshed before I have my way with you.”

Oscar laughed, tightening his grip on Dorian’s hand. Still grinning, he remained quiet as Dorian chattered away as they walked, talking about the weather, the gardens, his preparations for Oscar’s arrival, how busy he’d been, anything and everything. Oscar let the sound of his voice wash over him, relishing the feel of Dorian’s fingers entwined with his, as they approached the house.

The interior was much cooler, and a servant relieved Oscar of his pack and weapons. He was sure he saw other servants poking their heads out from various doorways off the vestibule, but they disappeared every time he turned to look at them.

“They’re very curious about you,” said Dorian, in a low voice. “I think some of them have been almost as excited for your arrival as I have.”

“Truly?” said Oscar.

“Well, no,” said Dorian. “But some of the stories they tell about us – dear Maker.”

“Such as?” said Oscar, intrigued.

“I think they’re best repeated later,” said Dorian. “In private.”

“Ah.”

Dorian gently gripped Oscar’s prosthetic, lifting it so he could look at it properly. 

“Does it hurt to wear?” he asked Oscar, turning the hand over in his palm.

“Not really,” said Oscar. “Though this one’s plain - I have another for fighting, which hurts a lot more,” he admitted. Dorian’s expression was sympathetic.

“Can anything be done for the pain?” he said. Oscar shrugged.

“Some of it will be becoming accustomed to the weight, and so on,” he said. “I do have a marvellous salve that helps quite a bit, though.” He smiled conspiratorially.

“Actually, I recently received my newest arm. Wait until you see it - the pinnacle of dwarven ingenuity.”

“I look forward to it,” said Dorian. “But for now, I’m sure you’d like to relax.”

He led Oscar through the atrium and down a bright hallway, until they were in a huge, high-ceilinged room with a large pool in the middle, surrounded by long-leaved plants. Oscar's pack had been left to one side. With a nod, Dorian dismissed the servants, and turned to Oscar, who was gazing around the room, open-mouthed. The pool was clear and blue, and Oscar longed to feel the cool water against his hot, sticky skin.

“This is – quite something, Dorian,” he said.

“It’s good to have in the heat,” said Dorian, somewhat dismissively.

“I’ll bet,” said Oscar. “It’s extraordinary.”

“Yes, well,” said Dorian. “Care for a soak before dinner?”

“Absolutely,” said Oscar. “But you’ll have to give me a hand.” He raised his prosthetic.

“Ah, the puns are still a perennial favourite, I see,” said Dorian, moving forward to work on the buckles.

“There’s nothing wrong with puns,” said Oscar. “They’re completely _armless_.”

Dorian rolled his eyes.

“Really, Oscar,” he said. “This is getting out of hand.”

Oscar let out a theatrical groan.

“You had to, didn’t you?” he said. “You couldn’t let me gain the upper hand.”

“Enough of this,” said Dorian, releasing the last of the straps. “I wash my hands of the matter.”

Chuckling, Oscar pulled away the prosthetic, along with the sock underneath, and put them aside. He rolled his aching shoulder, before starting on the rest of his clothing. He felt Dorian’s gaze on him as he undressed, and turned to look back at him.

The years had changed his husband little – he was ever-so-slightly softer around the stomach, a combination of fine Tevinter food and the fact he no longer spent his days roaming the countryside slaughtering demons, but his body was still as sculpted and solid as it had been the last time they’d been together.

“You are as fetching as ever, _amatus_ ,” said Dorian.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” said Oscar, his voice low even to his own ears. Dorian smiled, and sauntered towards him.

“You are too kind,” he said, leaning in close. Suddenly, his eyebrows knitted together in consternation.

“Come,” he said, leaning back. “Let us wash the journey from you.”

He took Oscar’s hand and led him into the shallow pool. The water felt blissful after the heat and dust of his travels, and Oscar let out a moan of pleasure. Dorian sat on one of the raised edges, tugging at Oscar’s hand until he sat beside him, stretching his legs out.

This was nothing like their nocturnal dip in Lake Celestine. The water was pleasantly cool and completely clear, the mosaics at the bottom perfectly visible. Oscar ran a toe along the edge of one of the tiles.

“The siege of Marnas Pell,” said Dorian, watching his movements. “There are mosaics throughout the estate depicting scenes from Tevinter history.”

“Is that what you want to ponder while relaxing in your pool?” said Oscar, a one-sided smile on his face. “Violent, bloody warfare?”

“My ancestors must have,” said Dorian with a shrug. “After all, they _were_ on the side of the victors.”

“Has this estate always belonged to your family, then?”

“Oh, yes,” said Dorian. “It’s thousands of years old.”

“So this,” said Oscar, pointing at the mosaic, “would have been current events at the time it was constructed?”

“It would,” said Dorian. “Perhaps I should commission a mosaic of us, heroically battling Corypheus.”

“Feels like that was a lifetime ago,” said Oscar, as Dorian leaned over to retrieve some soap.

“It does,” Dorian agreed, rubbing soapy hands over Oscar’s shoulders. Oscar hissed as Dorian hit a tender spot below his shoulder blade, the muscle tight and tense from too many hours wearing his heavy arm.

“Sore?” said Dorian quietly.

“Mmm.”

“Let me help.”

Dorian pushed gently on the back of Oscar’s head, tilting it forwards, before calling heat to his fingertips. He pressed them into the pad of knotted muscle in Oscar’s shoulder, letting the warmth permeate into the sore area, before moving his fingers in small, gentle circles.

“How is that?” he murmured into Oscar’s ear.

“It’s heavenly,” said Oscar, shivers running down his spine. “Maker, I’m glad I married a mage.”

“Goodness,” said Dorian, continuing his tender ministrations. “What would your Trevelyan ancestors say?”

“They’d be utterly scandalized,” said Oscar. “But I seem to recall you told me we could find a hundred ways to shame our ancestors in Minrathous. That only leaves ninety-nine to go.”

“Don’t worry,” said Dorian with a grin. “I’ve started a list.”

“I don’t doubt it,” said Oscar. He sighed happily as Dorian continued to work at his shoulder. He was used to the pain, but still, he couldn’t deny that his husband’s touch felt blissful.

“Bit harder?” he said, and the pressure of Dorian’s fingers increased.

“I haven’t heard you say that for a while,” said Dorian into his ear. Oscar tutted.

“You and your one-track mind,” he said teasingly.

“Come, now,” said Dorian. “My husband, who I have not seen for over two years, is naked in my pool. Where do you suppose my mind would be?”

“The same place mine is, I expect,” said Oscar, glancing back over his shoulder. Dorian shifted closer, moving his arms to wrap around Oscar’s waist. He pressed a kiss to the sore shoulder.

“Better?”

“Much better,” said Oscar. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

They returned to the seats along the side of the pool, and Dorian leaned back against Oscar’s chest.

“So – how are you?” asked Oscar. “Really, I mean.” Dorian sighed.

“I’d hoped we could save the unpleasant conversations for later,” he said.

“Not good, then?” said Oscar in concern.

“It could be worse,” admitted Dorian. “I haven’t had any of those strange episodes since Roe left the city, which is something, I suppose.” Oscar’s arm tightened around his chest. “But still, the knowledge it’s still there is – unsettling.”

“I can imagine.”

“I suppose you can. You had unusual magic inside you for years, doing Maker-knows-what to your body.”

“It’s fortunate yours isn’t the same kind. It would hardly be ideal if it dissolved your head.”

“Indeed. I’ve spent years growing out this hairstyle.”

They lapsed into silence for a moment.

“It _is_ reversible, though?” said Oscar worriedly.

“The healer believes so,” said Dorian. “Besides, the spell should end with the caster’s death.”

“You intend to kill him, then?”

“I do,” said Dorian. “But not until we have proof it actually is him. He could just be a pawn.” He twisted his neck to peer back at Oscar. “That happens a lot here.”

“So I gathered,” said Oscar. He sighed in frustration. “I just wish there was something we could do, so we knew you were safe.”

“I know,” said Dorian. “As do I.”

“How have you been, with it all?” said Oscar. “You said you’d had episodes, and that you weren’t well.”

“Bizarrely, I actually feel better for knowing there’s a blood magic curse on me,” said Dorian. “I know that must sound like a strange thing to say. But before I knew, I thought I might be losing the plot.”

“You? Never.”

“You say that, but things have been frenetic here,” said Dorian, letting his head rest against Oscar’s shoulder. “The things happening to me, the way I felt - let’s just say, it was a concern.”

“I'll bet.” Oscar kissed the side of Dorian’s neck.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll find whoever did this to you.”

“And kill them?” said Dorian hopefully.

Oscar laughed into the curve of Dorian’s shoulder.

“And kill them,” he agreed.

They remained in the pool for a while longer, though not long enough for Oscar’s liking. He let out a grumpy whimper as Dorian stepped out of the pool, water running down his body.

“Dinner will be served soon,” said Dorian. “Don’t worry, _amatus_ , we’ll take our time later on. Let me feed you up first. You must be tired of dried meat from your pack. And Maker knows I’m dying to introduce you to proper Tevinter wine.”

They dressed, Oscar pulling clean clothes from his pack. He could see Dorian watching him from the corner of his eye, ready to step in at once if he needed assistance - but over the last few years, Oscar had learned to dress himself reasonably quickly, and before long was pulling on his shoes. He had to admit, it probably would have been quicker if he had let Dorian fasten each item of his clothing, but a part of him wanted to demonstrate how far he had come - how he could manage unaided.

He pulled the cloth-wrapped dwarven arm from his pack, and Dorian moved to his side as he unrolled it, letting out a small gasp of surprise.

"I've never seen anything like this," he said, reaching out to experimentally bend the fingers. "You'll need to be careful wearing it out and about - there are people who'd pay serious gold for something like this."

"I know," said Oscar. "I don't wear it all the time. It's incredibly useful, though - lets me do more than the other two do." He held out the arm. "Would you do the honours?"

"Of course," said Dorian, lifting it. Oscar instructed him on how to fit it, and precisely where to fasten its several straps and buckles. This was one part of his routine Dorian had never been involved in, and Oscar smiled to himself as Dorian familiarised himself with the fastenings, letting out a curious _hmm_ as his deft fingers followed the straps and bindings around the arm.

Once the arm was fastened, Oscar stood, running his hand through his hair. It was wonderful to be free of the dust and sweat from the long journey, and almost on cue his stomach growled. Dorian smiled fondly at him.

"Come," he said, hand smoothing down Oscar's upper arm, as through reassuring himself that he was really, truly there. "Dinner awaits."

The meal they sat down to a short time later was sumptuous – platters of fruits, cured meats and fresh, warm bread alongside perfectly cooked fish and spiced vegetables. In a corner of the room, a minstrel gently strummed at a lute. Oscar's eyebrows rose as a a servant lifted the lid on a tureen of what looked like a traditional Free Marches stew, somehow incongruous alongside the flavourful Tevinter foods. He glanced at Dorian, who met his gaze knowingly.

“Let me know if you want me to do anything,” said Dorian, indicating the food.

“Thank you,” said Oscar. “But I can manage.”

He worked away at the food. Over the last couple of years, he’d become more accustomed to eating with one arm. At first, it had been an annoyance, but after Dagna had provided him with his articulated hand, he’d had more success. He was able to hold a fork with the flexible fingers by clicking them into position, and even though he couldn’t control it with a great deal of finesse, he could at least use it to hold food in place while he cut it. After many failed efforts, sending potatoes skitting across the tabletop, he had improved considerably.

He speared a vegetable now, the metal fingers clamped around the fork, and while it was not the most elegant sight, he managed to lift it into his mouth without incident. Glancing across at Dorian, he saw his expression had become one of wonder.

“That is quite remarkable,” Dorian said quietly. “You’ve been practicing.”

Oscar smiled triumphantly around his mouthful of carrot.

Once they had eaten and the plates had been cleared away by a surprisingly large number of servants, Oscar noted, dessert appeared.

Dorian had a sweet tooth, and so the dessert was even more opulent than the main had been. They took their time over a glazed fruit tart, covered with a sweet, light cream and paired with the appropriate dessert wine, naturally.

By the time the meal was done, they were both pink-cheeked from the wine, eyes shining.

“Let me give you a quick tour,” said Dorian, as they exited into the atrium.

“Dorian,” said Oscar, catching him around the waist. “The tour can wait. The only room I want you to show me is your bedroom,” he hissed into Dorian’s ear.

“Maker,” said Dorian. “Impatient, are we?”

“I see you’re as much of a tease as ever,” said Oscar, pressing his face into the curve of Dorian’s shoulder. Maker, but he smelled good – a mixture of the incense burning in the atrium, the soaps they’d used in the pool, and his own unique scent.

“But of course,” said Dorian. “One hears terrible things about the romance disappearing when two people get married. I like to keep you on your toes.”

“I’d much rather be off them,” whispered Oscar.

“You’re incorrigible,” said Dorian. “Very well, follow me.” He took Oscar’s hand and led him down hallway after hallway until they reached a large door.

As Dorian’s hand gripped the door handle, Oscar embraced him from behind, and they entered the room in a laughing tumble.

Turning in Oscar’s embrace, Dorian kissed him, as Oscar kicked the door shut behind him. Dorian pulled back, still cradling Oscar’s face.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, and headed through a side door. Oscar could hear the rustling of fabric from within.

While Dorian disrobed, Oscar took the opportunity to peer around the room as he worked at the straps of his arm. This was Dorian’s bedchamber, and it was as opulent as he had always imagined. Dark wood panelling, long windows along one side with heavy curtains, currently open to let in a breeze. The huge, ornately carved bed was covered in dark, glossy sheets, far more pillows than were necessary scattered along the top.

Oscar liked to think Dorian had had the sheets put on for his arrival, but knowing Dorian as he did, he expected he would always sleep on silk sheets if he could.

Straps undone, he placed the arm on a small table nearby, and toed off his shoes. He felt eyes on him, and turned to see Dorian leaning on the doorframe that led to what Oscar assumed was his dressing room, arms folded. He had donned a simple robe, tied loosely with a glossy cord, and the expression on his face brought heat to Oscar’s cheeks. Unfolding his arms, Dorian crossed the room to where Oscar waited, melting into his embrace.

Oscar brought up his fingers to tug at the neatly knotted cord keeping Dorian’s hair pulled back, and after a few moments of letting him tug ineffectually at it, Dorian let out a soft laugh and deftly untied it, tossing the cord aside. Oscar smoothed his fingers through the dark strands, before cupping the back of Dorian’s head and drawing him close for a kiss. The fabric of the robe was soft under Oscar's touch as his hand moved downwards, seeking the cord keeping it closed. Once he had found it, and tugged it open, Dorian's grin became wicked; he tugged on Oscar's hand, leading him backwards towards the ornate bed. 

As they sank onto it, the robe already shrugged off and forgotten, Oscar finally felt like he was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from _The Saga of Tyrdda Bright-Axe_ , from Dragon Age: Inquisition.
> 
> _Skyward, one last trek she made,  
>  To her lover, dream-delivered,  
> Raven-feathered, reunited,  
>  **Hearts both whole, now neither aching.**_


	19. Know Thy Place

It took Oscar a moment to come to full wakefulness the next morning. As he did, the first thing he noticed was the warm, solid form beside him. In a rush, the previous day’s events came back to him, and unwilling to leave the comfort of the soft sheets quite yet, he shifted closer, curling his arm around his sleeping husband and drifting back to sleep. 

He woke again some time later to see that Dorian was already awake, regarding him with soft eyes.

"Good morning,” said Oscar, voice husky from sleep.

"Indeed," said Dorian, as he leaned in to press a kiss to Oscar's lips.

"Sleep well?"

"Mmm," said Dorian. "A somewhat disturbed awakening, though."

"Oh?" said Oscar, twisting one of Dorian's inky-black curls around his finger. "In what sense?"

"Well," said Dorian hesitantly. "As it turns out, when you happen to have a blood magic curse on you that messes with your memories, it does rather make you question whether the extraordinary sight before you could possibly be real."

"Extraordinary sight?"

"You, of course."

"Ah,” said Oscar, smiling at the compliment. "Well, I can assure, you, I am quite real."

"Sounds like exactly the sort of thing my brain would say." Dorian rolled over, resting his chin over Oscar's heart.

"If there anything I can do to help convince you?" said Oscar, grazing Dorian's cheek with the back of his fingers.

Dorian smirked, opening his mouth to reply, when a knock at the door made them both jump. Dorian huffed out a sigh before sweeping across to the door, grabbing his robe on the way.

The servant outside, who quailed slightly under Dorian’s sleepy, irritated glare, informed him that Magister Tilani was waiting in the reception room, before departing rapidly. Dorian returned to the bed, and perched on one side of it.

“Mae is here,” he said to Oscar, who was sitting up, rubbing his eyes. “I told her to come later in the morning – which it seems it is, now. We appear to have overslept.”

“Oh, well,” said Oscar. "We needed it." Oscar had had a long journey, and Dorian hadn’t been sleeping properly for weeks. That, coupled with their exertions the night before, meant they had slept deeply for far longer than either usually did. Oscar had actually found it rather difficult to fall asleep at first, relishing the feeling of Dorian in his arms, but soon enough fatigue had taken over, and he had drifted off.

“We did,” said Dorian. “Hopefully she brought something to read with her, since we both need to tidy ourselves up.” Reaching out a hand to ruffle Oscar’s sleep-mussed hair, he stood, crossing to his armoire to pick out clothes for the day.

Oscar stretched luxuriously, sliding his limbs against the silky sheets. Thinking back to the night before, he smiled up at the ornate ceiling.

“Someone looks pleased with themselves.”

Oscar turned to see Dorian smirking at him. He was still in his robe, but Oscar knew from experience that it would not take him long to dress, despite his elaborate clothing. It had taken Oscar some weeks to properly figure out how to remove them quickly when they had first gotten together, but he had enjoyed the learning process a great deal.

“I am,” he said, grinning.

“Will you be getting up today, or should I give Mae your apologies?”

“Alright, alright,” said Oscar, flicking the covers aside. “See? I’m up.”

Dorian watched him walk over to the jug of water on the dresser with an appreciative glance, before heading into his bathroom.

After taking a long drink, Oscar followed Dorian. It was by far the most elaborate bathroom he’d ever seen, though Dorian informed him it was fairly standard for Tevinter. A huge, marble tub occupied one corner, and along the countertop stood various jugs and bowls, enchanted to keep the water within pleasantly warm. Back in Skyhold, Dorian had always trailed his fingers through the chilly water servants brought for them to wash in, warming it through, and Oscar had missed it terribly once Dorian had left – until the enchanted jug had arrived from Tevinter, that is. The onyx shaving kit Oscar had given Dorian had pride of place next to the mirror, along with a large assortment of soaps and oils.

Dorian shaved while Oscar washed, and then Oscar stood perfectly still while Dorian shaved him as well. He was quite capable of doing it himself, but it was far more enjoyable this way, he had to admit. He ran a comb through his own hair while Dorian tied his up neatly with a length of cord.

“Now, as much as I like this look,” said Dorian, looking Oscar up and down, “and I’m sure Maevaris would as well, we should probably get you dressed.”

“I can manage,” laughed Oscar. “Give me a moment.”

“Very well,” said Dorian. “Call if you need me, though.” He returned to his ablutions, and Oscar headed out to the bedroom.

He knew he didn’t have long before Dorian returned, fully dressed, and somehow he wanted to be dressed himself before then. He had become reasonably adept at dressing alone, partly because he had simply had a great deal of practice, and partly because of the ingenious gadgets Dagna had provided him with. He dressed as quickly as he was able, except for his boots.

By the time Dorian emerged from the bathroom, Oscar was almost fully clothed, deftly fastening his trousers. He glanced over, and saw Dorian’s expression change to one of wonder.

“I was coming out to help you,” said Dorian, walking towards him. “But I see I’m not needed. Look at you,” he said, placing his hands on Oscar’s shoulders. “You’ve come so far. You are a remarkable man, _amatus_.”

Oscar’s eyebrows rose. For him, it didn’t feel remarkable. He had simply performed the tasks he needed to as well as he could, and he had failed as many times as he had succeeded.

He looked down at his left arm. When he thought about Dorian’s words, the change in what he could do since the day Dorian had left Orlais was huge. Back then, he hadn’t even been able to dress himself, let alone fight, or hold a goblet with his left hand.

Dorian’s belief in him lifted his spirits, as it always had. They had talked about his progress many times over the years they’d been apart, but to see the pride in his eyes was more of a boost than he could have imagined.

“Thank you,” he said slightly shakily.

“You’re the one who’s done all the hard work,” said Dorian. “All done?”

“Almost,” said Oscar, lifting the metal arm from a nearby table. “Would you mind?” he said, holding it out to Dorian, who immediately moved to his side to start on the straps. Dagna had designed its fixtures in such a way that he could fasten it himself, but it was still far easier when someone else did it.

Dorian was still fascinated by the new arm, and paused in his movements to stare at it, bending the fine fingers and examining the tiny buttons that locked them into position. He ran a finger over the runes etched into the surface.

“There are enchantments on it,” Oscar commented.

“I know,” said Dorian. “Powerful ones. I can feel them. To protect you, it feels like?”

“That’s right,” said Oscar. “Among other things.”

“Fascinating,” said Dorian. “When we have time – and if you don’t mind, of course – I’d like to take a really good look at it. I may be able to suggest some improvements.”

Oscar hid his smile. Of course Dorian would want to study it. Oscar had been only concerned with whether or not he could hold things, or hit things.

“Of course,” he said. “If you can make it write my book for me, so much the better.”

Dorian frowned at him as he fastened the last buckles.

“I thought you were enjoying writing it?” he said.

“I am,” said Oscar. “It’s just ... revisiting everything that happened, it’s sometimes rather strange. Also, there are some things that I’m not sure people should know about. So sometimes, I just have to gloss certain things over. I’m sure people will notice.”

“They’ll love it,” said Dorian. “They’ll imagine it was something far more terrible than it actually was. It’ll fuel gossip at Orlesian salons for _years_.”

“Perhaps,” said Oscar doubtfully. “Anyway, it’s good to get a break from it. Go back to it fresh.”

“Quite,” said Dorian. “There - all done. Ready to head down?”

“I just need to put on my boots,” said Oscar. As Dorian watched, he managed to lever into them with the metal boot jack his tailor had given him.

"Ready," he said once he was done, pushing aside the slight nervousness he felt at the prospect of meeting Maevaris. Dorian had always spoken fondly of her, but nevertheless, he wondered what she would think of him - she was Dorian's closest friend here in Tevinter, so he hoped they would get on.

A short time later they were heading through the house to meet Mae for lunch – which, Dorian advised Oscar in a murmur as they walked, was supposed to have been brunch.

In the reception room, Maevaris rose as they entered. Oscar swallowed, smiling as her bright eyes met his. She was tall, statuesque, and dressed impeccably in flowing scarlet robes. He liked her at once.

“Sorry we’re late,” said Dorian.

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” said Mae. “I brought a book.”

Dorian laughed.

“Wise woman,” he said. “Now, introductions. Oscar, this is Magister Maevaris Tilani of Qarinus. Mae, this is Lord Oscar Trevelyan, former Inquisitor, current husband.”

Mae stepped forward to shake Oscar’s hand. Her grip was firm, her gaze piercing, and Oscar got the feeling he was being assessed. After a moment, she smiled, and turned to Dorian.

“I say,” she said. “Well _done_.”

Dorian’s answering smile was smug.

The three of them took seats around the vast fireplace, which was not lit in such hot weather, and a servant appeared with food and drinks.

“So how have you been doing?” Mae asked Dorian. “No further – problems?”

“Nothing so far,” said Dorian. “All quiet on the me front.”

“Which means Roe hasn’t returned to the city yet,” said Mae.

“Why would he be hiding?” said Oscar. “If Dorian went after him, couldn’t he just – stop him?”

“He could,” said Dorian. “Which is why I haven’t done so.”

“Couldn’t you send the Templars?” said Oscar. Dorian and Mae exchanged a look.

“You must understand,” said Dorian. “Roe is a very powerful, very influential magister. Without proof, my calling the Templars on him would – well, either be outright disregarded, or would look like I was simply trying to discredit him by flinging wild accusations around. Which, I’ll grant you, has worked on occasion, but not for someone as well-connected as Roe.”

“It just seems like someone should be doing something,” said Oscar in frustration. “All this sitting around, waiting for him to show himself, while you’re in danger – it’s not right.”

Dorian looked at him fondly.

“I know, _amatus_ ,” he said. Oscar saw Mae smile at the endearment.

“I don’t like it any more than you do,” Dorian continued. “But I also don’t want to get us all killed, or ruin our standing in the Magisterium. Any more than I already do, of course,” he said, taking a sip of his tea.

“What I don’t understand is why he’s doing this at all,” said Oscar. “Does he really see you as that much of a threat?”

“It’d be flattering to think so, but no,” said Dorian. “I rather think that he’s trying to divert attention from his own doings by diverting it to me. People are already prepared to believe the worst about me – and as a bonus, it also discredits any of my future work.”

“He’s probably also trying to splinter our group,” said Mae. “We _have_ been gaining ground in recent months – it can’t have escaped his notice.”

“Yes – he was especially galled when George stole that funding out from under him last year,” said Dorian. “Even though the Carastes circle would be living in a pile of rubble if she hadn’t.”

“Surely they know you better than that, though?” said Oscar.

“Until we met, they knew me purely by reputation,” said Dorian. “And my reputation here was – colourful, to say the least. Everything they know of me now has been based on my actions since I returned – and Mae’s good word, of course.”

“So if they think you’re secretly assisting Roe – ”

“Precisely,” said Dorian bitterly. “It would make sense, what with my power-grubbing ways and all. First I seduce the mighty Inquisitor, and go through with some southern sham of a ceremony to cement the alliance - then with that done I return to my homeland and start assembling allies, telling them pretty stories about redemption while I get into bed – figuratively speaking, of course – with a powerful, war-mongering magister behind their backs.” He snorted. “Makes perfect sense.”

Oscar knew that while most of the accusations wouldn’t bother Dorian too much, the view the other magisters had of their marriage would hurt him, even if he didn’t admit as much.

_I don’t care what they think about me. I care what they think about us._

“Surely your friends don’t really think that?” said Oscar.

“Friends?” said Dorian. “My _friends_ are in this room. If you’re referring to my allies – well, they seem just as ready as everyone else to believe the worst of me.”

“That’s not true, and you know it,” said Mae. “If you’re talking about George, then – perhaps she reacted a little rashly, but it wasn’t entirely without reason. She had documents in-hand, after all.”

“So we find the proof you need,” said Oscar decisively. “Then they won’t be able to doubt you.” He frowned. While he hadn’t been in Tevinter long, he was already realising just how much the magisters assumed everyone was out to get them, given their automatic distrust of someone as kind-hearted as Dorian. Why couldn’t they see the good person he was? Or perhaps they did, and would use that knowledge against him to further their goals?

"Anyway,” said Dorian heavily. “On to more cheerful matters, since we’re not going to be resolving the Roe issue right now - shall we eat?”

They started on the food. Oscar piled his plate, ravenous after the previous night and their long sleep.

“I see your appetite hasn’t waned over the years, _amatus_ ,” said Dorian.

“No,” said Oscar. “But these days I have to make sure to keep my hand in with training, or I’m going to end up one of those fat, lazy nobles we see everywhere.”

“I know what you mean,” said Dorian with a sigh. “One of my contacts here is exceptionally skilled with melee combat. I have him come here a few times a week, to run me through a few drills. Partly to keep my hand in, as you say, and partly because – well, let’s just say the food here is a little better than our campsite fare was."

“That would hardly be difficult,” said Oscar wryly.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Dorian. “Sera’s stews were actually quite edible, sometimes.”

For a moment, they were both lost in nostalgia, remembering moments under the stars, pressed together by the fire to ward off the evening chill, Sera stirring the huge stew pot in front of them.

“How are things in Kirkwall?” said Mae. “I hear from Varric on occasion – he speaks very highly of you.”

“That’s kind of him,” said Oscar. “Honestly, I think he’s grateful for any help he can get. He’s rather been thrown in at the deep end. At least when I became Inquisitor, I had advisors, and an inner circle to assist me. He only has his Seneschal, and they have – a history, as I understand it.”

Next to him, Dorian snorted into his wine glass.

“But things in Kirkwall are going well,” said Oscar, shooting him a glance. “Varric is doing a wonderful job. Apparently the place is hardly recognisable from the way it was a few years back.”

“Good to know,” said Dorian. “I passed through on my journey south, and I can’t say I was terribly keen to return.”

“Not even to visit me?” said Oscar, with a grin.

“Well,” said Dorian. “I suppose I might make an exception for you.”

“Very good of you.”

“It is, actually. Between the weather and the smell - ”

“The smell has improved. Varric had people close off the chokedamp vents.”

“Oh, well. Expect me on the next caravan, then.”

“I look forward to it,” said Oscar, smile growing.

Mae cleared her throat, and the two men turned to look at her, having forgotten, for a moment, that she was in the room. She smirked as they straightened.

“I was wondering,” she said to Oscar. “What is it that you do in Kirkwall? Dorian has been frustratingly vague, as usual.”

Oscar sighed inwardly. Glancing over, he saw his husband’s expression become sympathetic. Dorian knew Oscar worried about his place in their post-Inquisition world.

“Oh, you know,” Oscar said off-handedly. “This and that.” He took a sip of wine. “Not a great deal, to be entirely honest,” he added, his voice small.

“Rubbish,” said Dorian. “Mae said Varric spoke highly of you, and when I spoke to him he said the same. You’re invaluable to his efforts as Viscount. You’re writing your book, and training with the city guard – and yet, you still find time to listen to your poor, overworked husband complain about everything under the sun.”

“I do, don’t I,” said Oscar, one side of his mouth pulling up in a smile.

“Certainly,” he said. “Just because you’re no longer deciding the fates of nations, doesn’t mean you aren’t making yourself useful.”

Oscar’s smile widened slightly, but didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“So,” he said to Mae. “How has it been having Dorian back, causing trouble for you?”

Mae rolled her eyes theatrically.

“Maker,” she said. “Trouble is putting it lightly.”

“You wanted someone who would shake things up,” said Dorian with a shrug, refilling their wine glasses.

“Yes,” she said. “But I didn’t mean someone who would get themselves involved in a blood magic conspiracy.”

“To be fair, I went a whole two years before I got involved in any conspiracies,” said Dorian.

“Well done,” said Mae wryly. “A new record?” 

Oscar laughed.

“My husband is something of an expert at getting involved in conspiracies,” said Dorian, placing a hand on the nape of Oscar’s neck. “What can I say? I felt left out.”

“I’m retired from conspiracies,” said Oscar, his smile now genuine.

“You say that,” said Dorian. “And yet, here you are.”

Oscar sighed.

“The things I do for you,” he said, shaking his head.

“I need to be heading off shortly,” said Mae, glancing amusedly between them. “I have an afternoon appointment.”

"Already?" said Dorian.

"I _have_ been here a while," she said with a smirk.

“Will you still be joining us this evening?” said Oscar. Even in the short time they’d been speaking, he liked Mae.

“Of course,” said Mae. “Will your other friends be coming along?”

“I don’t expect we could keep them away if we tried,” said Oscar.

“I look forward to it,’ said Mae, rising. “Have a fun afternoon.”

Oscar was sure she winked at Dorian before sweeping from the room. Dorian shook his head.

“Incorrigible woman,” he said. “Now. I was thinking perhaps you might like to take a stroll? It’s far beyond time I showed you Minrathous."

“Certainly,” said Oscar. He scribbled a quick note to Sera letting her know the location of Dorian’s favourite tavern in the city, handing it to a servant for delivery, and they headed out into the afternoon heat.

The carriage dropped them off close to the marketplace Oscar had passed through the day before, thankfully mostly in shade this late in the afternoon. No sooner had they taken a step out of the carriage than Dorian began to rattle off facts and minutiae about the buildings surrounding them, the market itself, the traditions of trading in Tevinter, and the origins of the enchantments on various items available for sale. Oscar was fascinated by the history of the place – this marketplace alone was over ten thousand years old – but also simply enjoyed the sound of Dorian’s voice, and the enthusiasm in it as he talked of his homeland.

They walked for some time, keeping to the shaded streets where they could, until they stopped in front of a small, plain-looking building in the centre of a large square, empty of other structures except for statues, fountains and stone benches. 

This building, Dorian told him, was one of the oldest in the city, and one of its greatest treasures. A heavily armoured guard stood watch outside, and nodded brusquely to Dorian as they passed. They stepped inside, their footsteps echoing in the quiet. The main chamber was practically deserted, only a lone servant visible on the upper walkways, polishing a tiled mosaic with care.

Immediately, Oscar could see why this building was valued so highly, despite its unassuming exterior. The ceiling was set with panels of brightly coloured glass, in a huge depiction of the first Archon standing against the seven fallen magisters – the first darkspawn, as the Chant would have it.

“I thought that might interest you,” said Dorian, pointing up at the image. While the seven magisters had been depicted identically in the image, Oscar knew that one of them was Corypheus. The thought that he had ended the life of one of the men depicted in this image – thousands of years old – was humbling. He stepped forward, into the multicoloured light slanting through the ceiling, and stared up at it, awestruck. After a time, he jumped as he felt Dorian’s hand slip into his.

“I first came here as a boy,” said Dorian, his voice quiet. “My father brought me. I remember looking up at that ceiling in wonder – the colours were so beautiful, and yet the people depicted so repugnant. To think I might actually be involved in killing one of them – I could never have imagined it.”

“I was just thinking the same thing,” said Oscar.

“Something else I could never have imagined is standing here with you,” said Dorian. “I wish that younger me had known that this was in his future.”

“He found out, eventually.”

“I suppose he did,” said Dorian, tightening his grip on Oscar’s fingers.

They lingered for a while longer in the shafts of coloured light, fingers entwined, before heading back outside into the evening sun.


	20. And Be Thankful

By the time they left the ancient building, the sun was setting, and they headed for a tavern Dorian had spoken of with great enthusiasm. It was a large, low building, in a somewhat less salubrious part of the city than Oscar might have expected a magister to spend his time - but as they entered, he noticed that a great deal of the clientele seemed to be of the upper classes – if their clothing was anything to go by.

Maevaris was seated alone in a booth just inside the door, and rose to greet them as they entered. She kissed Dorian on the cheek, and then Oscar, making him blush.

Crossing the tavern briskly, ignoring the heads turning his way, Dorian headed for the back where private rooms were available, and usually reserved for magisters' exclusive use.

As Dorian opened a door leading off the hallway in the rear of the tavern, Oscar heard a squeal, before Dorian suddenly staggered under the weight of Sera, who had jumped into his arms, legs clamped around his waist.

Dorian laughed, and hugged her back, before she slid inelegantly to the ground. She reached up and yanked at his ponytail.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who couldn’t be arsed,” she said, twirling around to show her own ratty braid.

“Excuse me,” said Dorian, adjusting his hair tie. “I’ll have you know this is extensively styled.”

“If you say so,” said Sera with a snort.

Dorian turned to Mae, who was looking back and forth between the two, a delicate eyebrow raised.

“Ah,” said Dorian. “Sera, this is Magister Maevaris Tilani. Mae, this is Sera.”

Sera looked Mae up and down.

“Wow,” she said.

“Now, now,” said Dorian. “Don’t forget, you’re spoken for.”

Sera let out a _tsk_.

“Like I said to your hubby,” she said. “Just 'cause we have someone, doesn’t mean we can’t look.”

Dorian turned to Oscar, a questioning expression on his face.

“Er – shall we sit?” said Oscar. “The others are already here.”

Amused, Dorian followed him to the table. He recognised Belinda Darrow, who waved at him cheerily. Next to her was a dark elf wearing a worn woollen hat, which he had cut two rough holes in for his ears.

“Dorian, this is Severin,” said Oscar, indicating the elf. “He’s been in my family’s service for years.”

Sera snorted into her tankard.

“Pffft,” she said. “ _Service_.”

"Ah," said Dorian, realisation registering on his face.

“Severin, this is Dorian,” said Oscar. “My husband.”

Dorian leaned forward to shake Severin's hand firmly, an appraising glance passing between them.

“A pleasure,” said Dorian.

"Same here," said Severin, before glancing at Oscar, one eyebrow almost imperceptibly raised.

Belinda had made her way around the table to greet Mae with a strong, one-armed hug.

“If you’re going to bring Belinda with you,” said Mae to Oscar, “then you must visit more often. The woman’s a marvel.”

“Oh, now!” said Belinda, blushing. “I was just doing my duty.”

“I feel comforted knowing you’re here,” said Mae. “Your skills will no doubt come in handy.”

“Think we’ll be fighting magisters?” said Sera, who sounded like she couldn’t wait.

“We may well be,” said Mae.

“Such pessimism,” said Dorian. “We aren’t going to be fighting any magisters tonight, at least – unless the game goes extremely wrong.” The wine arrived, and Dorian lifted his glass.

“To our friends from the south,” he said. “Welcome, and enjoy.”

They all took a sip, and Oscar’s face warmed as Dorian winked at him over the top of his wine glass. Even after two years of marriage, and several years together before that, he still felt the same flush of desire and affection when he was in Dorian’s presence - especially after their long separation.

“Come, Mae,” said Dorian. “Let us show you how they play Wicked Grace in the south.”

The game was raucous and chaotic, as they made their way through several bottles of wine, and by the third game Severin was winning by a wide margin.

“It’s his damned expression!” said Mae, pushing her pile of coins towards the elf. “He doesn’t give anything away.”

“Pffffff. He gave _some_ things away,” said Sera, giggling into her ale.

“Sera,” said Oscar warningly.

“Oh, come on,” she slurred. “You were the one taking it!”

Everyone else looked intently at their cards.

“Yes, well,” said Oscar. “Perhaps – if – “

Mercifully, at that moment the door banged open to reveal a tall, bony woman standing in the doorway.

“Oi, Sera,” she said. “Everyone’s waiting.”

“Oh yeah! Shit!” said Sera. She tugged at Oscar’s prosthetic arm.

“C’mon,” she said. “There are some people I want you to meet.”

“Now?” said Oscar.

“Yeah, now,” she said. “Won’t take long. Besides, we both well and truly lost the game.”

“Who am I meeting, exactly?” said Oscar, rising to his feet as Sera continued pulling at his arm.

“Just some friends,” she said. She glanced around the group as they reached the door.

“Sorry,” she said, slightly smugly. “Jenny business.” She tugged Oscar out of the room, slamming the door shut behind them.

“Who’s Jenny?” said Belinda.

“A friend of a friend,” said Dorian off-handedly. “Another game?”

“I think it’s about time I called it a night,” said Mae with a sigh, dropping her cards onto the table. “While I still have _some_ coin left. Care for a ride back, Belinda? Or will you be following later?”

Belinda, who was staying at Mae’s estate during their visit, glanced up from where she was gathering the scattered cards into a neat pile.

“Oh, I might as well come with,” she said. “No sense in dragging your poor driver out again!”

They shook hands with Dorian and Severin before departing, leaving the two alone. In the sudden silence, the hubbub and noise from the main tavern echoed throughout the room.

“I expect Oscar and Sera will be back soon,” said Dorian.

“Probably,” said Severin.

“Care for a top up?” said Dorian.

“Sure,” said Severin.

Dorian refilled both of their glasses, and pushed one over to him. They drank, and an awkward silence grew between them.

“So,” said Dorian eventually. "How did you come to work for the Trevelyans?"

“I grew up with the Dalish,” said Severin. "Left my clan when I was a teenager, and headed for the city. I was in the countryside near Ostwick when a storm blew in, so I sheltered in a cave. Next morning, I ran into this man - he asked me if I'd seen any horses, 'cause some of theirs had gotten loose from a nearby estate during the storm. I hadn't, so he went on his way. Little bit later, I actually saw the horses, running about on the hills. I calmed them down and brought them back to the estate, which turned out to be the Trevelyans' place, and they gave me a job." He took a sip of his wine. "That's about it, really."

"They just gave you a job?"

"I'm good with horses," said Severin with a shrug. "They needed that. Did some other stuff for them as well, but mainly looked after the horses."

"What made you leave your clan?" asked Dorian.

"What's with all the questions?"

“No reason," said Dorian mildly. "I was merely curious."

"I'll bet,” said Severin.

"What do you mean by that?" said Dorian.

"I'm sure Oscar's told you all about me," he said. "What I did."

Dorian regarded him curiously.

"He told me very little, actually," he said. "Simply that you had once been involved, and that it didn't work out."

"That's all?" said Severin, looking slightly surprised. "Nothing else?"

"He said it was a long time ago, and you were both young," said Dorian with a shrug. Severin snorted a bitter laugh into his goblet as he took another sip of wine.

"Of course he did," he said, shaking his head slightly. "Always too bloody nice for his own good."

Dorian remained silent. Severin looked troubled, and Dorian admitted to himself that his curiosity had been piqued.

"Well, it's not like I need to tell _you_ the sort of man he is,” said Severin. "You probably know him better than I do, anyway."

Dorian bit back the _obviously_ that was on the tip of his tongue.

"Do the nobles here ever get - _involved_ with their servants?" said Severin, changing tack. Dorian frowned.

"Well, it happens, of course," he said cautiously. "Though it’s rarely a serious entanglement. And strictly behind closed doors, of course."

"Exactly," said Severin. "Can't imagine a noble publicly announcing their servant as their lover, can you?"

"Not here," said Dorian.

"Not anywhere. It's the same in the south. After I left my clan, I spent a bit of time in Wycome. Had some fun - one night I had my eye on this girl in a tavern. Beautiful girl, long red hair." Severin toyed with the stem of his goblet.

"I was buying her drinks, having a chat, you know. Until the barkeeper told me to stop, because she was the local Bann's daughter. Somehow, that made me even more determined, and I kept it up. More drinks, more chat. She was nice enough - up to a point. Eventually, when I suggested we take a walk, she just laughed. Said she couldn't be seen alone with an elven servant, because what would people think? I told her, I wasn't a servant, I was my own man, but that just made her laugh harder. She said I should remember my place."

He met Dorian's eyes, his expression sullen.

“I left the tavern, hearing them all laughing behind me. It was the same in the next tavern, and the next, until I learned my lesson. Those highborn humans thought themselves too good to be with an elf. I left Wycome not long after that and headed out towards Ostwick, which was when I ended up at the Trevelyans’. Figured I might as well stick around - they treated me well, and the pay was decent. Ended up working for the Bann’s oldest son, as well as working with the horses." Severin's gaze became fixed to the rim of his goblet.

“The younger son - Oscar - used to train with the soldiers in the courtyard, sometimes," he said, his tone carefully neutral. "He was about my age. Handsome. I used to watch." He shrugged. "Why not? It wasn't like he would notice. Except - he did."

Dorian wondered if he wanted to hear what was coming next. As though picking up on his discomfort, Severin straightened slightly.

"Anyway," he said. "I’ll spare you the details. But once I realised he was interested, I - well, at first I just ignored it. He was a noble, so it wasn't like anything was going to happen."

"It obviously did, though," said Dorian. Severin's expression fell.

“Yeah," he said. "But it probably shouldn't have." At Dorian's questioning expression, he continued.

"The rest of them mostly ignored me, let me get on with my work, but Oscar started talking to me, asking me about myself. And I thought one day - you know what? I'm going to prove to myself, and to all of them, that an elf could have a noble, as an equal." He took another gulp of wine.

"It was the easiest thing in the world, in the end. He was practically eating out of my hand. His family weren't cruel or anything, they were nice folks, but they left Oscar to his own devices most of the time. I think he was a bit lonely. He seemed shocked that anyone would be interested in him. Which worked out for me, since he lapped up every bit of affection thrown his way. So we started - seeing each other." He paused.

"It went on for a little while - not that long - but the best bit was that I knew all the people there knew about us." He snorted. "They must have. Oscar was terrible at hiding it. Said he didn't care who knew. Idiot."

 _Sounds familiar_ , thought Dorian.

"One day, I finished my work and went back to the stables, to find Oscar had laid out a fancy picnic round the back," he continued. "I kept saying, what if someone comes in here, what if someone sees? But he just laughed and told me to sit down. I knew then it was time."

“Time?"

"I finished it," he said. 'Told him the truth - that I'd wanted to bed a noble, to show elves were their equals.” He shrugged. “Loads of commoners do it, especially women – thinking if they get knocked up they can get some easy coin for it. Or for blackmail. There’s even a special name for women like that among the dwarves, or so I heard.”

Dorian winced.

"So you proved your point," he said. "And tell me, did you feel better for it?"

"No," said Severin.

Dorian had already realised what had happened as he had listened to Severin speak.

"You fell in love with him," he said.

Severin didn't reply for a moment.

“I knew I needed to finish it,” he said. "Everything I said … I hadn't actually proven anything. He was still a noble, I was still a servant. And an elf. We were never going to be able to be together, so I ended it before it – before I couldn’t.”

Dorian couldn’t help but feel some sympathy for the elf, even as his heart ached imagining young Oscar, glowing with the first flush of love, having his feelings crushed so cruelly.

“You don't know that," he said. "He would have found a way, if it were what you both wanted."

“You're probably right," said Severin. "And I think I knew that. Which was why I made it clear we were done. Back then, he'd have totally fucked things up for himself if he thought it would make me happy."

Dorian sat back in his seat, huffing out a sigh.

“I know, I know," said Severin. "I'm a shit."

“Why did you tell me all of that?" asked Dorian. "It is after all, as you said, ancient history."

"I don't know," admitted Severin. "Just been thinking about it, I suppose. Seeing Oscar again, and all. I didn't even know if I wanted to go to Kirkwall when Max told me what had happened. I suppose I thought helping Oscar might - be a way of making it right, a little bit. I don't know." He pulled off his hat and pushed the long hair out of his face.

“Are you seeing anyone now?" asked Dorian.

"Nah,” said Severin. "One or two here and there over the years, but nothing serious."

"And - do you still have feelings for Oscar?”

Severin paused, and Dorian's heart skipped a beat.

"No," said Severin eventually. "I wasn't even sure myself, but staying in his place these last couple of years - nah, that's all in the past. Doesn't mean I don't remember his face on that day, though."

“You really ought to be having this conversation with him, you know," said Dorian, emptying the last of the bottle into their goblets.

"We had a chat in Kirkwall," said Severin. "I - didn't tell him everything, but I did tell him how shitty I felt about it. Which'll do, for now. He's got enough on his mind." He downed the rest of his wine. "Might bring it up one day. Maybe when we're old."

At that moment, Oscar and Sera reappeared at the door. Oscar looked from Dorian to Severin, his expression apologetic.

"Sorry about that," he said. "Is everything alright in here?"

Dorian and Severin exchanged a look.

"Yeah," said Severin. "We're fine."

 

Oscar and Dorian bid Sera and Severin farewell outside the tavern. The two elves had taken rooms in a different tavern – one frequented by less nobles – and headed off in that direction, leaving the two of them alone.

"A quick stroll, before we head home?” said Dorian.

“Of course,” said Oscar.

They walked through the dark streets, mage-light lanterns illuminating the paths, until they reached a small plaza with a bubbling fountain in the middle. Very few people passed at this time of night, and they perched on the edge, Oscar trailing his fingers in the cool water.

"So," said Oscar. "What did you and Severin chat about?"

"Oh, you know," said Dorian. "This and that. You, naturally."

"Oh? What about me?"

"That would be telling."

" _Dorian_."

"He was just telling me about how he'd come to work for your family, how you'd met, and so on," said Dorian. “He seems a decent sort.” He hesitated for a moment. “You never told me the full story of what happened between you.”

“And he did?” Oscar’s eyebrows rose. “You really did have quite the talk.”

“We did. But you always made it sound like a far more mutual end to your fledgling relationship than it actually was.”

“I didn’t want you thinking badly of him before you'd even met, I suppose. It was a long time ago, and he was young. He’s here to help.”

“Even though he hurt you?”

Oscar shrugged.

“I was rather embarrassed, at the time. I felt like I should have realised it wasn’t serious to him. Back then, I was trying desperately to avoid being sent to the Order, hoping something else would come along - I felt like I was waiting for my life to start. When he showed an interest, it was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to me. I suppose I got swept up in it, and made a fool of myself in the process.”

“You were young, too.”

“True.”

“Being an elf - and the way humans have treated him - has clearly had a huge impact on him," said Dorian.

"I know," said Oscar sadly. "I suppose that's true for a lot of elves. Perhaps all of them."

"Perhaps," said Dorian.

“I wonder why he decided to bring it all up now?” said Oscar.

“He’s probably never had a chance to discuss it with anyone who knows you well.”

“True enough. Somehow I can’t imagine him discussing it with Max.”

Dorian laughed.

“Well, more fool him,” said Dorian. “If only he had known what he was letting go. Not that I’m not glad he did,” he added.

“Likewise,” said Oscar.

“Well, as strange as it is to have your first love tagging along on our little adventures – "

“He wasn’t my first love,” interjected Oscar. "He might have been my first time, but I told you, we were never in love. Not really.” He smiled, and tangled his fingers with Dorian's.

“My first love was also my last,” he said, his voice low. Dorian’s smile grew fond.

“ _Amatus_ ,” he said. “One day that soft heart of yours is going to be your downfall.”

“I’m married to a magister,” said Oscar wryly. “I think it already has been.”

Dorian cuffed him lightly on the arm, before leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. Pulling back, his expression became mischievous.

“I have a marvellous idea,” he said. “There’s something I want to show you. Care to take a look?”

“Of course,” said Oscar, smiling. “Lead the way.”

Dorian led them away from the fountain, along the side of the widest road leading away from it. A short time later they arrived in a large square, in front of the biggest, most imposing building Oscar had seen since he had arrived in the Imperium. Impossibly tall pillars lined the front of the building, topped with ornate, crumbling statues of bearded figures bearing staves.

"The Magisterium," said Dorian by way of explanation. "Would you like to take a look inside?"

"Is that allowed?" said Oscar.

"Technically, no," said Dorian. "But it's the middle of the night, so it should be pretty much deserted. Anyone still there will be hiding from their spouses, and so they'll be ensconced in their own studies, or in one of the libraries. We should be fine."

They headed up the enormous staircase at the front of the building, and into the atrium. The high, domed ceiling was painted with depictions of the Old Gods, and down each side of the space were enormous malachite statues of twisted snakes and dragons. The scent of incense hung in the air.

Dorian led him through the atrium and into a long hallway, with a huge pair of elaborately carved wooden doors ahead of them. A lone guard stood in the hallway - usually there would be more, but so late at night with no sessions taking place, they were not needed. The guard cast Oscar a curious glance as they passed, but stayed silent in the presence of a magister. Dorian pulled open one of the doors, ushered Oscar inside, and pushed it closed behind them.

In front of them was another doorway, and a torch-lined staircase leading upwards to the right. Dorian led them up it, exiting through a huge archway into the room beyond.

Oscar's mouth gaped open.

This huge chamber was the heart of the Magisterium, where debates took place and laws were passed. From his current viewpoint, he could see down to the lower level, which was rather plainly decorated, curved benches around the edge for the senate's elected officials.

The level he was on now - the upper house - was where the magisters sat, and was far more luxuriously decorated. Rows and rows of individual seats, rather than benches, beautifully carved from dark wood with soft leather seats, rose up in tiers around the edge of the room. In the centre, the largest seat of all - practically a throne, with gilded accents across its rich carvings. The high ceiling was painted with glyphs and sigils Oscar didn't recognise.

"The seat of the Archon," said Dorian, following his gaze to the throne. "This would be quite a momentous moment in history, you know - the former Inquisitor, vanquisher of one of the original magisters to enter the Golden City, Herald of Andraste, standing in the central chamber ... if anyone else knew about it, of course."

"I'm honoured," said Oscar, and meant it. Not only was the building itself millennia old, but decisions affecting all of Thedas were made here.

"So which is yours?" he said, indicating the chairs. Dorian led him around the edge of the balcony, before stopping at a seat in the front row, only a few away from the Archon's seat.

"Wow," said Oscar. "Nice spot."

"Indeed," said Dorian. "And you can bet there were more than a few magisters who were displeased at my being sat in such a prestigious position." He ran his fingers over the arm of the chair. "It's simply where the current Magister Pavus has always sat - and the Magisterium is big on tradition, if nothing else." Turning, he sat down, and Oscar smiled at the sight.

"Now I'll be able to imagine you sitting here, when you tell me all about the day's happenings in the Magisterium," said Oscar. He turned, looking out over the chamber, and Dorian watched him, letting the moment settle.

“The first time I sat in this seat,” said Dorian, smoothing his palm over the arm of the chair, “was during my induction ceremony - the one you listened in to. As I walked through the chamber, and then sat, I thought about the many generations of Pavuses before me who had done the same. And I also thought of you.”

“Of me?”

“I remembered the first time you took the throne at Skyhold,” said Dorian. “You looked so confident, so controlled.”

“Well, I didn’t feel it,” said Oscar. "I was unbelievably nervous."

“I know,” said Dorian. “That was my point. Sitting here for the first time ... the weight of history was so great as to be almost crushing. But I thought of you, of that day – and it gave me courage.”

Oscar smiled up at him.

"Come here," said Dorian, extending his hand. Oscar walked over and took it, and Dorian tugged him into his lap. Oscar chuckled, wrapping his good arm around Dorian’s shoulders.

"I'm guessing this is definitely not allowed," he said.

"Oh, absolutely not," said Dorian. "Although imagining the faces of my colleagues if they knew is rather pleasing." He smiled up at Oscar.

"Now when I have to sit here for hours on end, listening to people droning on and on about Maker knows what, I'll be able to think of this moment," he said, and kissed him.

They remained in each other's embrace for some time, until a noise from somewhere in the chamber made them break apart. Peering around, they saw nothing in the shadows of the room.

"Nothing there," said Dorian, though he kept his voice quiet. "This building is so old, and has seen so much magic, that strange sounds are a constant occurrence." He sighed.

"But at any rate," he said. "We should probably head back. Unless you'd like to see the magister's bathrooms?"

"I'll pass," said Oscar. "But thank you for bringing me here. It's good to actually see the place that means so much to you."

They rose, and headed back to the hallway. The same guard was still there, and nodded to Dorian as they passed. They stopped off briefly in Dorian's office, partly so Oscar could see it and partly so Dorian could collect some books he thought would be of interest to Oscar, before heading back towards Dorian's estate. 


	21. Divide et Impera

Oscar had been invited to another meeting of the local Friends of Red Jenny, having met some of them in a tavern a few days previously. They had extended their services to Dorian, should he ever need them, and on more than one occasion since his return their information had helped him evade his rivals. No particularly incriminating evidence had been brought to light so far regarding Roe, but Dorian had asked them to see what they could uncover about him, to help establish if he was responsible for the blood magic ritual, or merely working for those who were.

While Dorian headed back to the Magisterium to meet with some of the Lucerni, Oscar headed to a nearby tavern to meet Sera and her contacts.

He found her crammed around a too-small table with the group, a pitcher of ale in the centre. She nudged the others, indicating them to move down, and they squashed up even more to fit Oscar in. Crushed shoulder-to-shoulder with the elf and the woman either side of him, he smiled at everyone around the table, doing a double take when he saw Severin sitting in the middle of the group.

"Oscar," said Severin with a nod.

"I invited him," said Sera, noticing Oscar’s surprise. "So, everyone, this is Inky. Told you about him." She went around the group, rattling off names, the vast majority of which Oscar immediately forgot.

They all nodded politely, but a few looked wary. Oscar wasn't surprised. As a noble - not to mention former Inquisitor - he was exactly the sort of person the Friends usually tended to steer clear of - or make their target. Fortunately, they had Sera's good word to go on, to stop him taking an arrow in the backside.

"Sandy's found something about your magister," said Sera, pointing to the tall, bony woman he’d met in the tavern previously.  

"Er," said Oscar. "Which one?"

"Oh, right," said Sera. "The evil one. Roe."

"Yeah, some of our contacts found out he'd been seen at another magister's holiday villa," said Sandy. "It's out near Asariel. Though from what I heard - he's not there any more."

"Not there?" said Oscar. "Could he be heading back to Minrathous?"

"Maybe," said Sandy. "We've got people keeping an eye out for him if he does."

"Lots of people in his service wanting to help us out," said Sera. "Some of them been disappearing. The rest are scared."

"His slaves have been disappearing?" said Oscar. "That's - concerning. Not that it wouldn't always be, but given what we know about the ritual used on Dorian ..."

"Don't," said Sera, her scowl deepening. "Every time I come here, blood magic this, blood magic that. And always little people who have to pay for it."

They shared out the pitcher of ale, and someone produced a battered set of dominoes. They played for a time, chatting about various developing schemes, until Oscar needed to head back to Dorian's estate for dinner.

"Say hi to hubby," said Sera. "Lunch tomorrow? Both of you?"

"Of course," said Oscar, leaving some coins behind for the beer. "Have fun."

Back at the estate, Dorian was already back from his meeting, sitting in front of the huge fireplace looking weary. Oscar kissed his cheek, and settled into the chair opposite as a servant brought an expensive-looking bottle of brandy and two glasses, and poured them each a measure.

"Another day of arguments," said Dorian after the servant had gone, swirling the amber liquid around in his glass. "I'm certain some of the others still have their suspicions about me."

"That's hardly fair," said Oscar. "It's not as though your current predicament is your fault."

"Well, they have a point," said Dorian. "Currently, it _is_ safest if they don't trust me completely, given that I've been carrying out actions I have no control over. But, still." He took a fortifying sip. "One might have hoped for a little more understanding."

"Angling for sympathy?" said Oscar with a smirk.

"Please," said Dorian derisively. "I don't need sympathy. I simply need them to not behave like all the worst stereotypes of us would have you believe - paranoid, power-hungry maniacs.”

"Ah, well," said Oscar. "We'll get to the bottom of it, and that should ease their minds."

"So confident," said Dorian. "Did your _friends_ find anything out?"

"Not yet," said Oscar. "Oh, but they said Roe isn't at the country villa he was at any more." Dorian straightened.

"They saw him? Where?"

"Out near Asariel, but not for a little while. They said they'll keep us posted."

"Asariel? What was he doing there? He doesn't have property there."

"From the sounds of it he was at someone else's estate," said Oscar. "They hadn't found out whose, exactly."

Dorian grunted affirmatively. The news that Roe was on the move could be good or bad, depending on whether he was headed back to the city, or simply to another hiding spot.

"My Lord," said a servant, whisking into the room. "Dinner will be ready in around half an hour."

"Thank you," said Dorian, and the servant exited.

"Well, _amatus_ ," he said, rising. "Shall we -"

The brandy glass slipped from his fingers and shattered on the floor. Abruptly, he turned away from Oscar.

"Dorian?" said Oscar, concerned. His husband had gone very still. "Are you alright?"

Oscar rose, alarmed, as flames began to dance around Dorian's fingertips.

"Dorian?" he said again, and reached for his shoulder.

A bolt of arcane energy from Dorian's hand hit him squarely in the chest, sending him sprawling backwards over the chair. He staggered to his feet, wincing, to see Dorian's face crumpled in concentration. Magic still swirled around his hands, growing brighter.

"Run," said Dorian from between clenched teeth.

"Dorian, what's -"

Another bolt of magic cut him off mid-sentence, and he twisted, taking it in the shoulder, feeling pain blossom across his chest.

"No!” cried Dorian. “I can’t –“ He clutched his head, and Oscar watched in horror as a thin trickle of red ran from his nose.

“What’s happening?” said Oscar.

“Run!" said Dorian again, more forcefully this time. " _Now_!"

“I’m not leaving you,” said Oscar firmly.

“GO!” cried Dorian, as another blast of wild magic threw Oscar halfway across the room.

Scrambling to his feet, he looked once more at Dorian, who was taking deep, ragged breaths. One on one, he could never best him. If Dorian’s full power were turned against him, with Dorian himself not in control – Oscar had no chance.

“Hold on, love,” he said. “We’ll fix this. I promise.”

He backed out of the room, and started to run.

 

*          *          *

 

Oscar considered himself fortunate that he had visited the tavern where Sera and Severin were staying that very morning, as he would never have been able to find it otherwise, even with the address. Unlike the wide, brightly-lit avenues of the Gilded Quarter, this tavern was down a selection of winding, dirty, narrow streets, where people dressed in elaborate, spiked clothing smoked unidentifiable herbs in long, bone-handled pipes, and stared curiously at him as he passed.

He had only had time to grab his pack as he’d fled Dorian’s estate, which fortunately contained his gauntlet and buckler. He hadn’t had cause to use them since arriving in Tevinter, but now he was heartily glad he’d brought them. He very much hoped it would not come to fighting Dorian himself, but he was damned if he wasn’t going after whoever was doing this to him – right now. Roe was obviously back in the city, and Oscar would find him.

The tavern was packed when he arrived, and he shouldered his way through the throng of patrons, searching the crowd for Sera or Severin. He spotted Severin’s ratty hat over in a corner, and elbowed people aside to reach them.

“Hey!” said Sera cheerily as she spotted him. Her face fell as she saw his wild, wide-eyed expression.

“What is it?” she said, standing.

“It’s Dorian,” said Oscar. “Someone’s taking control of him again. He attacked me. I think he was trying to fight it, but he couldn’t, not for very long, at least.”

“Why would he attack _you_?” said Severin.

“Roe must know I’m here,” said Oscar. “And evidently they want me out of the picture.”

“Where’s Dorian now?” said Sera.

“I left him at his estate,” said Oscar. “I don’t know what Roe’s plans for him are now, beyond getting to me. We shouldn’t stay here, though – he’d know I’d come here, and I don’t want any of these people getting hurt.”

“Okay,” said Sera. “Let me get my things.”

“Hurry,” said Oscar.

Moments later, they met outside the tavern.

“Where’s Belinda?” said Oscar.

“She’s staying with Mae,” said Sera. “Bel was going to help train some of her guards, so she offered her a fancy guest room.”

“We should head there,” said Oscar. “Mae should know about this. And we’ll need the help of someone who’s more well-versed in magic than we are.”

“Won’t Dorian know to look for us there?” said Sera.

“Perhaps,” said Oscar. “But it may be that –“

He froze, as he felt the gentle vibrations of the crystal around his neck. Fumbling, he yanked it out from under his clothes, and popped it open.

“Dorian?” he said. “Are you there?”

“Yes,” came Dorian’s strained voice. “Roe doesn’t know about the crystals, so he can’t stop me using them.”

“Where are you?” said Oscar. “Are you alright?”

“No,” said Dorian. “I – felt compelled to bring my staff and start walking. I’m nearing the outskirts of the leather district, heading towards the harbour.”

“Where are you headed?”

“I don’t know,” said Dorian. “As far as I know, there’s nothing down here except warehouses and tanneries.” He cried out in pain.

“My head is killing me,” he groaned.

“Because you’re fighting it,” said Oscar.

“I must,” said Dorian.

“No,” said Oscar. “We’ll find you. Don’t kill yourself in the process.”

“I’ll keep you posted, as long as I can,” said Dorian. “Though – I don’t know how long that will be.”

“I’ll be listening,” said Oscar. “Listen, Dorian.”

“Yes?”

“We’re coming to find you. Don’t doubt that. We _will_ lift this curse from you. This ends tonight.”

“Alright,” said Dorian, after a pause. “I hear you’ve got that determined tone in your voice. Maker help anyone who gets in your way.”

“Exactly,” said Oscar, smiling weakly. “We’ll see you soon.”

“I’ll be in touch,” said Dorian. The crystal went dark.

“Come on,” said Oscar. “Let’s get to Mae’s, as quickly as we can. Dorian may not have much time.”

They raced to the marketplace, where they hailed the first carriage they saw, and piled in. Oscar watched the buildings rush by in a blur, trying to push down the terror that bubbled in his chest. There was no telling what Roe might make Dorian do – or do to him, if he were no longer useful. Assassination seemed to be the order of the day in Tevinter, and a controversial junior magister being murdered would draw very little attention here.

Oscar pushed the thought from his mind as the carriage finally arrived at Mae’s estate.

Her bewildered servant let them in, and went to fetch his mistress. She arrived moments later, Belinda behind her.

“What’s happened?” she said, without preamble.

“Roe must be back,” said Oscar. “Dorian’s being controlled again. Except this time, he’s aware of it.”

“Then Roe must have something else planned for him,” said Mae, frowning. “He must have reached the end of his usefulness.”

“That was my thought,” said Oscar worriedly. “And if that’s the case - "

“We’ve not a moment to lose,” said Mae, finishing the thought for him. “Where is he?”

“Heading towards the harbour, he said,” said Oscar. “We can still talk through our crystals, since Roe doesn’t know about them.”

“The harbour?” said Mae. “Why?”

“He didn’t know,” said Oscar.

“Well, never mind why,” she said. “Let’s go.”

She rattled off orders to her servants for her bodyguards to join her, and disappeared for a moment to fetch armour and weapons. She also issued urgent messages to her and Dorian’s allies, the servants hurrying away into the night to deliver them.

Guards brought swords for Oscar and Belinda, and he took the opportunity to switch out his simple, wooden arm for the metal one in his pack, with assistance from Severin. He strapped on the small buckler and attached the sword.

“Almost like old times, yeah?” said Sera, looking at him.

“Almost,” he said. If it were truly like old times, Dorian would be at his side, he thought with a pang.

“Blood magic, crazy magisters, weird friends – sounds like old times to me,” she said.

“A fair point,” said Oscar. “Come on. Let’s go.”

They assembled in the atrium, where Mae, clad in glittering battle robes, joined them, her staff glowing on her back. Her soldiers and Belinda arrived in full plate, weapons ready, and the assembled group finally headed out into the night.

They took three carriages, and were dropped off by the wide road leading to the harbour. Oscar clicked open his locket.

“Dorian?” he hissed. “Can you still hear me?”

He heard a sound from within, a muffled whimper.

“Dorian!” he said in alarm. “What’s happening? Are you hurt?”

“I’m – outside a building,” said Dorian, his voice strained. “Blue shutters, mostly broken. Four pillars beside the door. I’m trying to – to delay going inside. Until you arrive. But it’s – " He moaned again. “Rather painful.”

“Where?” said Oscar, his heart hammering. “We’re almost there.”

“I think it was the harbourmaster’s estate, way back when. It’s been empty for years.”

“I know it,” said Mae. “It’s not too far.”

Dorian cried out again, and Oscar’s heart squeezed at the sound.

“Hold on, love,” he said, wishing he could do something more useful.

“I must go in,” gasped Dorian. “The magic is – very strong.”

“No, wait –“

“We may not be able to speak again,” said Dorian. “If this goes south –“

“Don’t,” said Oscar. “You were the one who used to tell me not to dare saying goodbye, remember?”

“I remember,” said Dorian. “Alright. I’ll see you soon, then, _amatus_.”

The crystal went dark.

Oscar turned to the others.

“Let’s find this house,” he said. “Quickly.”

A short time later, they peered around the corner of the building opposite the one Dorian had described. Its broken blue shutters hung from their hinges, and the paint on the pillars was cracked and peeling. Outside the door, four guards, peering up and down the street.

Oscar heard footsteps coming up behind them, and placed his hand on the pommel of his sword. Beside him, he saw magic glow at Mae’s fingertips. Their eyes met, and Mae nodded.

Wheeling around, they stood, ready to fight, only to see Vic, holding his hands up.

“Whoa!” he said. “I’m here to assist, I would prefer not to be roasted or skewered while doing so.”

“Sweet Maker, Vic,” said Mae, standing down. “You should know better than to creep up on us like that.”

“We thought there might be more guards.” He glanced past Mae and the others. “And by the look of it, we were right.”

“We?” said Mae.

Panting slightly, George jogged up behind Vic. Bringing up the rear was Bello, bright blood already visible on the blade of his staff.

“I wondered where you’d got to,” said Vic.

“Couple of guards posted at the southern entrance to the street,” said Bello. “Well, there _were_ ,” he added with a smirk.

“Dorian’s already inside,” said Mae to the others. “We need to get in there as quickly as we can.”

“Bound to be more guards inside,” said Sera. “There’s only four outside, though, so I’m sure we can –“

As she spoke, two more guards ran from a nearby alley, shouting to the others stationed outside the house. Evidently, they had discovered the bodies left by Bello and George. Within moments, more appeared, from inside the house and from nearby streets and buildings. Soon, a dozen men stood between them and the building.

“You were saying?” said Vic.

“Shut up,” said Sera. “I know – we need to draw ‘em off. A distraction. I’m thinking – fireworks.” She smirked up at Oscar, and he remembered the small bag full of elemental grenades Dagna had given Sera before they’d left. Not to mention the fact that Sera always carried a few alchemical flasks as a matter of course.

“Shame we don’t have any bees,” said Oscar.

“Yeah,” said Sera with a grin. “But we’ll make do.”

As the others exchanged confused looks, she pulled out the selection of tiny flasks and grenades, the glass clinking together in her hands.

“Careful,” said Oscar.

“I’m always careful,” she said. Oscar levelled a glance at her.

“Alright, alright,” she said. “I’ll be careful. See you inside!”

She sprinted off into the distance, away from the house, surprisingly quiet for a woman wearing such huge boots. Her footsteps faded into silence, until suddenly, a cacophony of noise and sound exploded from nowhere. Spikes of ice and bolts of lightning rent the air, and the assembled guards pointed in alarm, at least half their number racing towards the source of the explosions.

Their numbers thinned out, Oscar was now confident they could take on the remainder, especially with four magisters among their group. He swallowed as he shifted his metal arm. He’d trained on many occasions with Brennan, but this would be the first time he’d faced someone who was truly hostile.

“Ready?” he said to the others, and they nodded.

“Then let’s get going,” he said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt.

Weapons ready, magic called into hands, the group charged forward.


	22. His Master's Voice

Dorian had arrived at the harbourside estate to find the whole building in darkness. He had lingered on a nearby street corner for as long as he was able, long enough to give Oscar and the others all the directions he could, until the blinding pain in his head threatened to send him into unconsciousness. As he approached the door, the guards posted outside had moved aside to allow him entrance. 

The guilt from having hurt his _amatus_ ate at him. The command that had manifested in his mind had very clearly been to kill, but Dorian had managed to hold back enough to allow Oscar to escape, despite the agony lancing through his skull. The memory of Oscar tumbling back over the furniture, struck by a bolt of Dorian's own magic, would stick with him for a long time.

His stomach also lurched as he remembered having to kill his own men to leave his estate. They had attempted to stop him, as he had ordered in such a situation, and he had destroyed them in a bright flash of magic. The horrified awareness of what he was doing had been present throughout, unlike the previous occasions the ritual had been used to control him – Dorian assumed that Roe simply no longer thought he needed to worry about making him forget, which only compounded his worry.

He had closed the connection with Oscar's crystal before setting foot near the house - the last thing he wanted was Roe finding out about them and stopping him from using his - or worse, using it to hurt Oscar. If Roe forced Dorian to summon Oscar, he would come at once - and walk straight into a trap.

He made his way through the old, rotting house, knowing innately where to go, and soon found himself in front of a wooden door, unusual in that it was the only intact, new thing in this place. The other doors looked like they'd splinter if anyone so much as breathed on them - but this one was made of new, solid wood, with several complex locks beneath the handle.

Dorian reached for the handle, and the door clicked open.

The room beyond was empty, and the pervasive stench of rotten wood persisted. This must have been the study, the walls lined with long-disintegrated books and papers. The chair's leather was torn and patched with damp, the paintings on the walls invisible under layers of mould.

At the back of the room was another bookcase, and Dorian knew that this was his destination. If he hadn't known, somehow, to slide out the copy of _Clavicula_ , he would never have known how to enter the concealed room beyond. He was surprised that the method of entry was so mundane - a trick bookcase was the sort of thing _soporati_ nobles in the south used to hide away their valuables.

The room behind the bookcase was in far better repair than the rest of the house - lanterns threw warm light across the room, and new furniture had been brought in. The books and papers scattered across the desk looked new and crisp.

As Dorian entered, Laurentus Roe rose from the chair behind the desk.

"Let me guess," said Dorian. "You've been expecting me."

"Indeed," said Roe. "Though you've been a little on the slow side; I expected you some time ago."

"Oh, you know how it is," said Dorian, wiping blood away from his upper lip with the back of his hand. "I was parched. Stopped off for a quick drink on the way."

"Ah," said Roe with a sneer, eyeing the blood on Dorian's face.

"So," said Dorian. "What brings you back to our fair city?"

"I got word your backup had arrived," said Roe. "Things were getting out of hand."

"My backup?"

"You were seen," said Roe. "In the Magisterium. With your - _paramour_." He tutted. "Things must be dire indeed if you need to import thugs from the south for assistance. Would no one in the Imperium support you?"

"I discovered he was on his way not long before you did, I imagine," said Dorian. "He's here of his own accord."

"I'm not surprised you brought him here," said Roe, ignoring him. "I daresay it was part of your plan. It was a good move, I'll admit - solidifying your position in the south like that. Seducing the Inquisitor, even going through with that southern ceremony to tie him to you. A little over the top, but it seems it worked. I had a feeling he might cause problems, but when you left him in the south I didn't deem it a pressing issue. But since you decided to bring him and his private troops here, you've rather forced my hand."

He sighed, leaning against his desk.

"A shame things didn't work out with your father," he said, shaking his head. "But I worked with what I had."

"With my father?" said Dorian, frowning.

"Surely this ritual is familiar to you? It was of his invention."

Dorian's blood ran cold. The ritual, the mind control - it was the same ritual his father had wanted to use on him.

"He helped you with this?" he said in disbelief. He'd genuinely believed his father had felt remorse for even considering the idea, not continued to refine it. Had he known Roe intended to use it on Dorian? The thought made his heart ache.

"In a manner of speaking," said Roe. "Word of his ritual reached my ears, and I immediately saw the potential for its application. I approached him for his assistance, and he refused. Since I was now exposed, he became our first - experiment. We found his notes, and carried out the ritual as he had designed it. His notes were extremely detailed."

"You used it on him?"

"We tried," said Roe, regret creeping into his voice. "A pity to destroy such a mind, but it was not our intention."

Dorian must have looked stricken, because Roe's expression turned slightly sympathetic.

"The ritual had not been sufficiently refined," he said. "As we discovered further, with more research - I daresay you were fortunate, in the end, that he decided against using it on you. His death, in the end, was a mercy killing, I assure you."

Dorian's swallowed, his heart racing.

"Our work since then has focussed on refining the ritual successfully," continued Roe. "After many unsuccessful tries, we finally achieved success. Our timing was excellent, as it turned out - this was shortly before you returned to take up your father's seat. We decided to turn to you, given the opportunity."

Dorian tried not to think about how many innocent lives had been sacrificed for these 'refinements'.

"You must have realised you'd be discovered," he said.

"Certainly," said Roe. "But I've progressed my work significantly thanks to you. You are simply the beginning of a chain, Magister Pavus. Once you are dead, another will take your place. Your death will come as a surprise to no-one, behaving as you do."

"Even if you could kill me, there are others who feel as I do."

"I'm aware," said Roe. "I know more than you probably imagine I do. Your little group - if it succeeded - would destroy the Imperium as surely as the Qunari. You're ensuring the downfall of the very thing you're supposedly fighting to save. While you were off bedding your southern _soporati_ , some of us were fighting to save this country."

His voice had risen in volume, and he had moved closer to Dorian. Reining in his temper, he took a deep breath, and turned back to the desk. Dorian glanced around the room. In one corner, he could see a strange contraption of fused, twisted glass and metal, filled with what looked disturbingly like blood.

"Well, then," he said, feeling exhausted. "If you intend to kill me, I suggest we get on with it."

"As you wish," said Roe. "I know you see me as some kind of traitor to our country - but the truth is quite the opposite. You don't seem to comprehend how huge a danger to us the Qunari are. Your efforts to channel money away from the war effort into - what, buying new curtains for the Circles? They are _killing_ people."

"Throwing slaves at the Qunari isn't going to save the Imperium," snarled Dorian. "It is our magic that is our best hope. We need to ensure our mages are well-trained, ready for the fight that's coming, or they'll be lost, either to the Qunari or to demons. And the rest of the Imperium will surely follow."

"Foolish boy," snarled Roe. "You are far too much trouble for your own good."

"I've been told that often," said Dorian.

"Keeping your memory clean took little effort," said Roe. "But then you had to bring in outsiders. We are only capable of sustaining one person at a time." He glanced over at the artefact in the corner. "So now we must clean up your mess, and begin again." He lit the end of his staff, and a moment later, two soldiers stepped into the room.

"Ah," said Dorian. "Finally, some action."

"Where are the others?" said Roe, glancing back and forth between the two men with a frown.

"Not coming, my Lord," said one. "We have Magister Pavus's forces pinned down, but they're putting up heavy resistance. The rest of the men are dealing with it, ser."

_That must be Oscar and the others_ , thought Dorian. The sooner this was over, the sooner he could go and aid them.

Wheeling around, he encased both of the soldiers inside a well-placed cage of lightning, and they howled in pain as the electricity crackled through their heavy armour. Dorian only had a moment to enjoy his triumph before Roe hit him in the shoulder with a bolt of his own. The enchantments in Dorian's own armour prevented it from being a lethal blow, and he instantly raised a barrier, wheeling around to spin fire around Roe.

The soldiers had regained their senses and were circling him. He flicked his hand and cast his spirit mark on one of them, before reaching into the soldier's mind and turning it to his own ends.

Screaming, the man raised his sword and turned on his partner, who ran him through. He crumpled to the ground like a wet sack, and the other soldier turned his attention on Dorian.

His attacks bounced uselessly off Dorian's barrier, until a blinding glow made Dorian fall to one knee, feeling like the breath had been stolen from his body. He knew this power - he'd seen Cassandra use it many times - but had no idea that any northern soldiers knew how to do such things.

The purge had dispelled his barrier, but he quickly raised another, with somewhat more difficulty. The rapid fire spells he was throwing around were draining his mana quickly, and his only hope was that Roe would run out before he did. He had not had the time, or opportunity, to pick up any potions from his supplies before leaving his estate.

Behind them, a spirit form rose from the body of the first, fallen soldier, and turned on his former comrade. His attention successfully diverted, Dorian hit him with a powerful bolt, and he hit the ground alongside the first soldier's body. The spirit form dissolved into nothing.

Panting, Dorian turned to Roe. They were both the worse for wear, breathing hard, and stared at each other.

"So," said Dorian.

"So," said Roe. "You insist on making this as difficult as possible, I see. I understand that has always been your way."

"What can I say?" said Dorian. "I'm a contrarian." He raised his staff to encase Roe in another cage of electricity, but nothing happened.

He blinked in surprise. His mana was low, but not yet depleted, and Roe had cast no magic-cancelling spells on him.

He saw the glowing stone in Roe's palm a moment before realisation registered. _Of course._

"I suggest you stand down," said Roe. "There is nothing you can do. I can make this quick, painless - and I promise the same for your companions."

"And what is that promise worth?" hissed Dorian. "You've been lying to everyone for months."

"Let us end this charade," said Roe. "You've lost."

While he was still under the control of Roe's artefact, Dorian could not kill, or even harm him. Oscar and the others were dealing with his soldiers. He considered his options, grateful once again that Roe could not read his mind.

If he revealed the sending crystal's existence, he would only have a moment before Roe stopped him using it. His barrier would decay soon, and he only had enough mana remaining for one more spell. Fumbling under his collar, he tugged out the necklace, keeping it covered with his hand. He popped open the locket, turning away from Roe, hoping against hope that Oscar was still alive. To Roe, he hoped it would look like he was preparing for his final moments - simply clutching a piece of jewellery with sentimental value, for comfort. 

_And he wouldn't be entirely wrong_ , Dorian considered, before pushing the thought aside.

Although it only took his husband a few moments to answer, it felt like a lifetime, and Dorian felt a flood of relief at the sound of his voice.

"Dorian?" said Oscar, sounding winded.

"Back of the study,  _Clavicula_ ," Dorian fired off rapidly, before he could say anything else. " _Amatus_ ... I'm sorry."

"Wait! Dorian, what -"

Dorian snapped the locket shut. Already, he could feel the compulsion not to use it, as Roe realised what had happened. Turning back to look at him, he saw that Roe's expression was cold fury.

"Clever," spat Roe. "But it's too late."

Dorian's barrier fizzled out of existence, and Roe's expression became triumphant. An image came to Dorian, of Oscar standing in brightly-coloured shafts of sunlight slanting through stained glass, gazing up in wonder.

Meeting Roe's eyes defiantly, Dorian cast his final spell.


	23. Ad Lucem

Awareness returned slowly to Dorian. First of all came the sound of murmuring, indistinct voices, followed by the swift realisation that he was alive. He shifted, attempting to get his bearings, and immediately regretted the action as pain lanced through his body.

"Easy, easy," said a gentle voice, and Dorian felt a hand rest on his shoulder. "Don't try to move."

Dorian cracked his eyes open to see Oscar's worried face swim into focus above him. Oscar's expression immediately changed to one of relief as their eyes met.

"Thank the Maker," he said, bringing his hand to Dorian's cheek. "When we found you, for a moment I was sure you were dead." He nodded across the room. "Thanks to you, we managed to get here in time."

Dorian turned his head, to see Roe dead on the floor on the other side of the room.

"So you did," he croaked. Wincing, he sat up slowly, Oscar's arm supporting him, and glanced around at the other people crowded into the office.

Mae, George, Vic, Sera, Belinda and Severin were standing around them, looking relieved, making the small space look even smaller. All of them had an assortment of bruises and cuts from their fights with Roe's soldiers, and he felt a rush of gratitude that they had all come to his aid.

"It was lucky you let us know exactly where you were," said Mae. "We'd never have found you in time, otherwise."

"Clever bit of magic, that," said Vic, his arms folded. "I knew you weren't just talking to yourself all those times."

"You can imagine how popular such a thing would be," said George. "So I suggest you keep your mouth shut about it, Vic."

"Well, of course," he said with a scowl. "I'm not a _total_ idiot."

"There are a lot of notes here about Roe's work," said Mae, looking over the papers on the desk. "And, of course - this thing." She pointed to the twisted artefact powering Roe's ritual.

Dorian rose to his feet slowly, gripping Oscar's upper arms for support, and looked at it properly.

"We just need to destroy it, yeah?" said Sera, already nocking an arrow.

"I believe so," said Dorian.

"Please," said Oscar, his expression darkening. "Allow me." He indicated for the others to stand back.

He crossed the room in quick strides and brought his pommel down on the glass casing, shattering it instantly. As the blood flowed out and onto the floor, the magic dissipated in a dark mist. The others scrambled backwards, away from the spreading pool of blood.

A wave of agony hit Dorian as the glass broke, and he cried out, clutching his head. The pain drove him to his knees, and Oscar moved back to his side at once.

"Dorian?" he said urgently. "What's happening? Can you hear me?"

The pain, gripping his head like a vice, intensified briefly before releasing, like a severed elastic cord. Dorian took a deep breath, and glanced around. The others were all looking at him with expressions of worry on their faces - Oscar's the most worried of all.

"It's alright," he said to the room at large. "It's stopped. And I feel … myself, again."

Memories were coming back to him, now, of the missing periods that Roe had made him forget - signing any documents Roe placed in front of him without question.

"I remember," he said, closing his eyes at the bizarre sensation of the memories resurfacing. "All of it. I _did_ sign those documents. And - " His eyes narrowed in anger. "I remember when he placed the curse on me, now. It was when I attended the symphony, not long after I returned from the south. He took me aside, and as far as I recalled until now, we just had a brief chat about the weather."

“I heard him,” said Oscar, remembering.

“Yes,” said Dorian. “I closed the locket in case he noticed its glow, or heard anything.”

“Just as well you did,” said Mae. “Given how things went tonight.”

Dorian glanced over at the blood and broken glass littering the floor, and rose to his feet again. Making his way over to the desk, he examined the papers strewn across it, and his heart twisted at the familiar handwriting.

"Is everything we need here? All the proof?" said Mae, coming up beside him.

"It looks that way," said Dorian. "I was actually familiar with this ritual, as it turned out." He dropped the papers back onto the desk.

"These are my father's notes," he said.

"Your father?" said Mae in disbelief. "Surely he wasn't helping Roe?"

"Not directly," said Dorian. "Roe found out about the ritual he devised, somehow."

"The one he was going to use on you?" said Oscar softly.

The other magisters present all looked over at Dorian, wearing almost-identical expressions of shock.

"You didn't know?" said Oscar.

"I did," said Mae. “Though I never mentioned it to Roe, or indeed anyone, of course."

“However Roe found out about this, he obviously realised such a ritual would be incredibly useful for his political ambitions," said Dorian. "He went to my father to ask him to assist. Naturally, he refused - so Roe's people used it on him as their first attempt, since he knew too much. It destroyed his mind." He looked back over the notes again, at the pages and pages of neat writing.

"That's what it would have done to me," he said, his voice hollow. Oscar's hand squeezed his shoulder.

"Anyway," said Dorian brusquely, "they killed him. It was a mercy, Roe said."

"I'm sorry," said Oscar.

"As am I," said Dorian. "However I might have felt about him, he didn't deserve to go like that."

"So evidently they refined it before they used it on you?" said Vic.

"Yes," said Dorian. "I don't like to think about how."

"Pretty sure I can guess," said Sera, her expression furious.

"Yes," said Dorian sadly. "I know."

Bello was examining Roe's body.

"Looks like it was quite the fight before we got here," he said. "I thought you weren't able to attack him?"

"I wasn't," said Dorian. "I fought his soldiers. As to why he allowed it - I expect he wanted the satisfaction of finishing me off himself - or he wanted to make sure it was done properly."

"We saw your simulacrum," said Oscar. Dorian knew he found the sight of it distressing, as it only made an appearance when Dorian was close to death.

"Yes," said Dorian. "I was almost out of mana, you were all tied up with Roe's men, and my barrier was about to die. I didn't see any other options, honestly."

"Still, Dorian," said Oscar, frowning. "That was a huge risk."

"I didn't exactly have a choice," said Dorian.

"Wait, what did you do?" said George curiously.

"A little trick I picked up," said Dorian off-handedly. "I summoned a spirit to manifest and fight on in my name, if I should fall."

"So you _let_ Roe knock you out?"

"Precisely."

George whistled.

"Risky indeed," she said. "Looks like it paid off, though. I'm amazed he didn't kill you."

"As long as the spirit remained fighting, my life was quite safe," said Dorian.

"So you were relying on the spirit to defeat Roe?"

"Not defeat him, necessarily - I hoped to delay him long enough for the cavalry to charge in and save the day. That's all of you, by the way."

"And if Roe had defeated the spirit?" said Mae.

"I didn't think that was likely," said Dorian, glancing sideways at Oscar. His husband's jaw was tight, a sure sign that he was suppressing his anger.

"Truly, I used my better judgement,” he said. “I knew it would work."

The tight lines of Oscar's jaw relaxed slightly, but he still looked troubled.

"I'm sorry we didn't get here sooner," he said. "That you had to resort to that. It must have hurt you." He cupped Dorian's chin in his hand, tilting his head to one side to examine the gash across his forehead, a bruise forming around it. The blood had clotted, but the wound was still very sore.

Dorian batted his hand away gently.

"We can worry about that later," he said. He rolled an aching shoulder, taking inventory of his other injuries - a bruised rib, or perhaps two, something amiss in his neck, aches and pains everywhere, burns across the back of his hand, bruises beyond counting. And the headache to end all headaches.

But he was alive, and finally free of the curse. The rest would heal.

"The templars are on their way," said Mae. "We called for them while you were still out cold."

"How long was I out for?" said Dorian, nonplussed.

"Too long," said Oscar quietly.

His head spun, and Dorian perched on the edge of the desk, hoping the others wouldn't notice. Most of them didn't, taking seats themselves while they waited, but Oscar moved to his side.

"You alright?" he said.

"Mmm," said Dorian noncommittally. "I've been worse."

This wasn't completely untrue. The state he had been in after their first encounter with a high dragon had been comparable to this, as was a certain memorable battle with red templars in Crestwood. He met Oscar's eyes, and knew that his husband remembered those events just as well as he did - if not better. Oscar's horrified cry of his name as he fell had haunted Dorian's thoughts for a long time afterwards, although it had sown the first seeds of the affection that had grown between them. In that moment, hearing the terror in Oscar’s voice, he had wondered for the first time if Oscar might have had feelings for him beyond friendship. It had been some time before he truly allowed himself to hope, but it had started there.

A short time later, a small complement of templars arrived, accompanied by a senior magister.

"Magister Scaeva," said Dorian in surprise, rising from his perch on the desk.

"Magister Pavus," said Scaeva, his keen eyes sweeping the room. "I received word of what had happened from the templars." His eyes alighted on Roe's body, and the pool of drying blood.

"You have found proof of this conspiracy, then?" he said. Dorian showed him the ritual notes, the receipts for the slaves the ritual had been tested on, and the shattered pieces of the blood magic artefact. Scaeva instructed his soldiers to gather the materials and bring them to the Magisterium for investigation.

"Do you think I'll be asked to address the Magisterium on the matter?" said Dorian.

"Perhaps," said Scaeva, apparently lost in thought. "For now, it is best you return home."

"I agree," said Oscar, who had not left Dorian's side. "We should get you out of here."

Dorian was utterly exhausted, and in no mood to argue.

"Alright," he said. "At least the truth is known, now."

He felt weak with relief. Everyone had been so eager to believe the worst about him - presenting them with the true sequence of events would be incredibly satisfying, not to mention what it would mean for George and her efforts. Hopefully, all the sham documents he had signed while ensorcelled would be reversed, and she would get the funding she had fought for for years.  

"Dorian," said George, as he moved towards the door. "Look, what I said before. I'm - "

Dorian waved a hand.

“Think nothing of it," he said. Her accusations had stung, but given the evidence had been understandable. "You had your reasons."

"Still," she said. "It was unworthy of me, and I apologise. There's enough distrust going around as it is for us to start stabbing each other in the back."

"Agreed," said Mae.

"Quite," said Dorian. "But could we possibly have this heartwarming conversation another time?" His head was throbbing seemingly in time with his heart, and he weaved slightly where he stood.

"Let's go," said Oscar firmly. "The templars have this in hand."

"Quite, quite,” said Scaeva. "Off you go, my boy."

Collecting his staff from where it had clattered across the floor, Dorian followed the others back through the labyrinth of the house, using his staff as a walking stick. Oscar walked beside him, his constant, solid presence a comfort.

"You fought Roe's men?" said Dorian, as they passed the inert forms of the soldiers lying in the hallway.

"We did," said Oscar.

"He was marvellous, my Lord!" said Belinda. "That training in Kirkwall obviously paid off."

"It was impressive," agreed Bello. "Especially considering the prosthetic."

"That's kind of you to say," said Oscar. "I still have a great deal to learn."

Dorian's gaze drifted down to the buckler.

"Is that the famous fighting arm you spoke of?" he said. Oscar lifted the prosthetic, which was encased in a large, golden gauntlet. Finely-tooled plates of armour overlapped all the way up his arm, ending in a large plate strapped over his shoulder, not unlike the one Dorian had worn when fighting with the Inquisition.

"It is indeed," said Oscar proudly.

"You seem to be able to wield that small shield well," said Bello. "That must have taken a great deal of training."

"It's very light," said Oscar. "Ironbark. As hard as steel, at a fraction of the weight."

"I almost wish I had seen you fight," said Dorian. He was curious what Oscar's fighting style was like now, and while he wasn't exactly unhappy that his husband wasn't risking his life on a daily basis nowadays, there was a part of him that missed fighting at his side. They had made an excellent team in battle, quickly learning to complement each other's fighting styles - even though Oscar was constantly trying to get him to move further away from the thick of the battle. He would comply, for a time, but always found himself back at Oscar's side - where he had felt he belonged.

Dorian recalled the conversation he and Oscar had had some years ago after Oscar had arrived in Kirkwall, when his husband had broken down in despair over never being able to fight again, and looked at him now - buckler still attached, sword sheathed at his side. Oscar caught his glance.

"What?" he said, smiling.

"You are a remarkable man, _amatus_ ," said Dorian softly. Oscar's smile widened.

"Thank you," he said. "As are you."

"Well, yes," said Dorian.

Carriages were waiting outside, and they left the others, promising to catch up in the morning once they'd all had a chance to rest. As soon as the carriage lurched forwards, Dorian let his eyes close, resting his aching head on Oscar's shoulder. What felt like a moment letter, Oscar was gently nudging him awake.

"We're home," he said, exiting the carriage before holding his hand out to help Dorian step out.

As they walked into the atrium, a figure rose from a nearby chair, grey robes brushing the floor.

"Master Kew," said Dorian in surprise.

"Magister Tilani summoned me," said Master Kew, gliding towards them. "She believed my services would be needed - and it would appear she was right," he said, tilting Dorian's head to one side with a long finger under his chin. Under the scrutiny of his gaze, Dorian felt like a child again.

"Let us go somewhere private," said Kew, and a servant appeared to lead them to Dorian's bedchamber.

Behind him, more servants had appeared to assist Oscar with removing his buckler and gauntlet, and Dorian glanced back over his shoulder at him as they worked.

"I'll just be a moment," said Oscar, understanding his expression. "Don't worry."

Dorian nodded, and allowed the servants to take his staff as they walked. Once they reached his bedchamber, they assisted him in removing the largest pieces of his armour, followed by his robes, so Kew could examine him properly.

Kew worked quickly, hands glowing white, closing cuts and reducing swelling, and Dorian breathed a sigh of relief as the fierce pounding in his head began to subside. He lay back with his eyes closed, almost asleep, when he heard the door click open and closed across the room. A moment later, he felt Oscar's fingers in his.

"How are you doing?" Oscar said, his voice low.

"Better," said Dorian tiredly.

"Your injuries were not life-threatening," said Kew. "Though I've no doubt they were painful. Given you were fighting a blood mage, it could have been far worse."

"Indeed," sighed Dorian. He wondered if Roe had used blood magic on his spirit simulacrum. Did blood magic even work in the same way on spirits? The idea was a fascinating one, and he almost wished he hadn't been unconscious on the ground when the two had battled.

"I confess myself surprised that you survived such an encounter," said Kew. "Though perhaps I should not be. I recall your graduation to Enchanter well."

"You were at the ceremony?" said Dorian in surprise.

"I was," said Kew. "A most impressive display."

"Thank you," said Dorian. "It feels like a lifetime ago."

"Agreed," said Kew. "I have done all I can," he added abruptly, the glow from his hands disappearing. "You should rest for a day or two, now, and all will be well. Please send word to me if there are any further problems."

"I will," said Dorian, his eyes heavy-lidded. "Thank you, Master."

Kew nodded once, before sweeping from the room, leaving Dorian and Oscar alone.

Dorian was so tired that he could barely find the energy to shift under the bedcovers, but he managed to do so, kicking the silken sheets aside before sliding underneath them. The last thing he was aware of was Oscar crawling in beside him, his arm snaking around his waist, warmth surrounding him.


	24. Realpolitik

Dorian awoke the next day to find sunshine streaming into his bedchamber, his husband sleeping soundly beside him, and no headache for the first time in several months. He stretched luxuriously, being careful not to wake Oscar, though his _amatus_ was such a heavy sleeper that he'd probably have to make considerably more effort to do so.

Rolling onto his side, he regarded the sleeping man beside him. Oscar had not been in Tevinter long, and the novelty of his presence was still fresh. Oscar's eyelashes fluttered slightly as he dreamed, and Dorian took a moment just to watch him, revelling in the peace of the moment - his own sleep had been dreamless, thanks to his total exhaustion, and he wondered what Oscar dreamed of as he watched him.

After a while, he could no longer resist, and brought up his fingers to brush Oscar's cheek. He stirred, but didn't wake, and Dorian shifted closer to press a series of kisses to the tip of his nose.

"Mmmf," murmured Oscar, frowning and brushing at his nose, eyes still closed. "What?"

"Good morning," said Dorian, his voice low.

"Mmm," said Oscar, a slow smile spreading. "Is it?"

"Oh, yes."

Dorian kissed his lips this time, and Oscar kissed him back, letting out a puff of a laugh against Dorian's lips.

"How long did we sleep?" murmured Oscar as they broke apart.

"Long enough," said Dorian, running his fingers up Oscar's spine, under his loose shirt. "Though, I can't say I'm quite ready to get up just yet. You?"

"I think we deserve a lie-in," said Oscar, twisting a loose lock of Dorian's hair around his finger.

"I'm so glad you agree," said Dorian, shifting over to throw a leg over Oscar's hips, straddling him.

Oscar reached up to remove the loose tie from Dorian's hair, letting the dark strands fall about his shoulders, and drew him closer.

 

*          *          *

 

Once they were up, they spent the afternoon at the estate. Oscar took the opportunity to write a few letters – to Varric, Josephine and Terri – and waited for the summons for Dorian to testify at the Magisterium about the events of the previous night. None arrived, but Dorian wasn’t too worried – it had been less than a day, and Scaeva was the type to review all evidence thoroughly before moving to the next step.

Another day passed, then another, and Dorian began to get concerned.

“Perhaps they’re still reviewing?” said Oscar, watching Dorian pace.

“These things are usually dealt with quickly,” said Dorian. “They like to appear as though they take decisive action, ensuring that any infractions are dealt with as soon as they arise. It’s a deterrent, you see – or so they believe.” He paused in his pacing. “Perhaps I should pay them a visit.”

“Couldn’t hurt,” said Oscar. “Shall I come with you?”

“It might be best if you stay put,” said Dorian thoughtfully. “Bringing you to the Magisterium in the dead of night is one thing, but until this is all straightened out, doing so in the middle of the day would be unwise – and quite aside from that, there are many areas in the Magisterium where _soporati_ are not permitted, so I’d have to leave you in my office anyway.”

“While that sounds absolutely thrilling,” said Oscar, “I believe I’ll stay here.”

“A wise choice,” said Dorian. 

*          *          *

  

At the Magisterium, Mae and George were waiting for Dorian just inside the entrance. Belinda, solid and reassuring, stood with them.

"There you are," said Mae, appearing at Dorian's side.

"Were you waiting for me?" said Dorian. "I've already been greeted by half a dozen magisters, and I've only just arrived. I had no idea I was so popular."

"Actually, it's the opposite, I'm afraid," said Mae. "The big news today is that you murdered Magister Roe in his private study when he threatened to expose you as his accomplice."

"Fascinating," said Dorian. "They seem to have fabricated the story almost entirely out of whole cloth."

"Not entirely," said Mae, as the group swept through the wall, faces snapping in their direction as they passed. "You must admit, the evidence did point that way - as Roe intended, I suppose."

"Well, he intended to kill me," said Dorian. "This just seems to be an unfortunate side-effect."

They had reached the outer doors to Scaeva's office, and knocked for entry. The guard announced them, and Dorian stepped inside, holding up a hand to halt the others.

"Let me speak to him," he said. "If I get into trouble, I'll scream."

They nodded, and he stepped through the doors.

"Ah, Pavus," said Scaeva, seated behind his desk. His office was dark, shuttered against the bright sun, the single lantern on his desk throwing his face into shadow. "What can I do for you?"

"I know it was only a short time ago," said Dorian. "But I wondered if you had finished looking over Magister Roe's notes."

"I'm not sure what you're referring to, Magister," said Scaeva blandly.

Dorian blinked. There was a popular rumour going around the Magisterium that Scaeva was going senile, but Dorian had never believed it, assuming it was simply his rivals trying to get him ousted from his seat on the consiliare. He had only spoken with Scaeva a handful of times since returning to Tevinter, but had found the man as sharp-witted as ever in that time.

"I beg your pardon, Magister Scaeva," he said carefully. "I'm referring to the incident earlier this week."

"Ah, yes," said Scaeva. "A most regrettable sequence of events. Magister Roe was one of our best. A shame he became ensorcelled in such a way."

Dorian frowned. Could Scaeva truly have failed to grasp the situation in such a fundamental way? The man was usually famed for his sharp mind and ability to look at a situation impartially. He was a member of the council of high judges for precisely this reason.

"No," said Dorian. "It was _I_ that was ensorcelled. Magister Roe was controlling me through a blood ritual. You saw his notes confirming such, and the artifact used to do it."

"I'm afraid we recovered no such evidence," said Scaeva.

"But -" Dorian shook his head.

"Never mind," he continued. "Where are the notes now? We could look at them together. I checked them myself; they were quite clear."

"You misunderstand me," said Scaeva, standing slowly. "No evidence was recovered by the templars from the scene. All that was found were the bodies of Magister Roe and his men."

"But that's not - " Dorian paled as realisation set in. Scaeva was not confused, or senile.

He looked at Scaeva, who looked mildly back at him.

"You were working with Roe," he said quietly.

"I had no part in his magical rituals, nor did I know anything of his attempts to control you," said Scaeva, with a shrug. "Laurentus always did play his cards close to his chest, even with his closest friends. But I supported his goals, certainly."

"But he's dead," said Dorian desperately. "What does it matter now? Why destroy _my_ reputation as well?"

"Oh, nonsense," said Scaeva, waving a hand dismissively. "I'm doing you a favour. Your fellow magisters will see you as a threat, now. If they know you can dispose of Roe, a powerful and well-connected man, they will imagine your reach is far greater than it actually is."

"But they believe I was working _with_ him," said Dorian.

"Quite," said Scaeva. "They assume you will intend to continue his work, and will therefore not interfere with those efforts."

"My own efforts are entirely to the contrary!" spat Dorian.

"Which they will believe is a public front for your _true_ work - defending the country you are constantly saying you love against the Qunari threat, as you should be," said Scaeva. "They will not wish to draw your ire, so will channel more of their personal funds into the war effort. Do try to keep up, Pavus. Your father was never this slow."

"Did you destroy the evidence?" said Dorian.

"It is too useful to destroy entirely," said Scaeva. "Your father was an intelligent man, and that is the only copy of his work we are aware of. But you will not find it. If you snoop around too much, you may find that certain pieces of evidence are suddenly unearthed showing exactly how you used blood magic to control Roe."

"Are you blackmailing me?" said Dorian, his expression thunderous.

"Welcome to the Magisterium," said Scaeva, returning to his seat. "Please close the door on your way out. There is a draught."

Dorian stared at him in disbelief for a moment longer, before turning on his heel and leaving, slamming the door behind him.

He strode down the hallway in fury, the others hurrying behind him.

"Well?" said Mae, struggling to keep up. "What happened?"

"Not here," hissed Dorian. "My office."

He stormed into his office in a flurry of robes, Mae and George on his heels. Belinda remained outside to guard the door, the Tevinter guards stationed in the hallway eyeing her curiously.

"What happened, Dorian?" said Mae. "Has Scaeva reviewed the evidence?"

Dorian gripped the edge of his desk, taking a deep breath.

"There _is_ no evidence," he spat. "Or so Scaeva says." He wheeled around to face them. "He was an ally of Roe's, and supported his funnelling money into the war. His official word is just as I said - that I killed Roe when he threatened to expose me." He laughed harshly. "Now, it seems, I am a force to be reckoned with in the Magisterium. He actually said he's doing me a _favour_ , by making everyone fear me."

"He destroyed the evidence?" said Mae.

"No," said Dorian. "He says it's too useful. They probably intend to attempt to use it again."

"Then we find it," said George.

"If we go after it," said Dorian, "and he finds out - which he undoubtedly would - then he announces to the world exactly how I murdered Roe with blood magic, and he has proof." He sighed. "And we know what the penalty for _that_ is. Being a pariah would be a picnic in comparison."

The others lapsed into silence.

"What's your plan, then?" said George. "There must be something we can do."

Dorian stroked his chin.

"There is," he said. "We have resources he wouldn't anticipate. He would never imagine a magister would have such contacts."

"Ah," said George. "Your _friends_."

"Quite," said Dorian.

"We'll need to be careful," said Mae. "Like it or not, Scaeva has you over a barrel."

"What an unpleasant image," said Dorian, grimacing.

"We'll give it a go, too," said George. "There are quite a few of us - and we're _magisters_ , for the Maker's sake."

"I appreciate that," said Dorian. “And thank you. I know that standing with me will tar you with the same brush."

"Tar us … what?" said George. Dorian smiled.

"Sorry," he said. "A southern expression. It means you'll all be tainted by my reputation."

"Oh, pish," said George. "As if we weren't already."

"Well, then," said Dorian. "In that case, let us continue."

His fiery anger was rapidly giving way to a deep sadness. He was well aware of how cut-throat Tevinter politics could be, but for once he had dared to hope that the truth might actually be the most important thing; that the figures he had respected all of his life might not actually turn out to all be villains.

 _No wonder the rest of the world thought magisters were monsters._ He thought back to his induction ceremony, and the vows stating that they were the 'guiding lights' for the people of Tevinter. Some guides … he had not wanted this role, but he was damned if he wouldn't work for the rest of his life to show that at least some magisters could stand for what was right. He had given up so much to come back here - now he needed to make it worth it.

"I'm going home," he said, suddenly longing to see Oscar. "Perhaps we can pick this up tomorrow."

"Will you be alright?" said Mae.

"Yes," said Dorian, with a sigh. "I suppose I should be accustomed to this sort of thing by now."

"Perhaps - but I think the day you no longer care will be a very sad day indeed," said Mae. "Maker knows I'm not there yet, and I've been at it a lot longer than you."

"I doubt very much you ever will be," said Dorian, smiling. "Until tomorrow, then."

He stared sightlessly out of the window as his carriage returned him to the estate, and a servant pointed him towards the ornamental pool when he asked Oscar's whereabouts.

He couldn't help but smile as he leaned against the doorway, watching Oscar in the pool. His husband was sitting on one of the raised sides, head resting against the edge of the pool, the fingers of his right hand drifting lazily in the water. Dorian cleared his throat.

"Oh, hello," said Oscar, his head snapping up. "Hope you don't mind," he continued, gesturing to the pool. "It's so hot today."

"Of course not," said Dorian, walking over slowly. "It _is_ a little much, even by my standards."

Oscar stood and stepped out of the pool, and Dorian appreciatively watched the water sluice down his body.

"Well?" said Oscar, grabbing a nearby cloth and rubbing at his hair. "How did it go? You weren't gone long."

"No," said Dorian. "It doesn't take long to discover you're actually a villainous blood mage, you see."

"What do you mean?" said Oscar, stilling.

"Scaeva was part of it," said Dorian heavily. "He's covered up the evidence, and allowed everyone to think I was working with Roe. It seems the popular story is that I killed him when he threatened to expose me." He folded his arms. "Funnily enough, that's not how I remember it."

Oscar's face had fallen.

"Is there no way you can get hold of the evidence yourself?" he said. "Take it to someone higher?"

"Currently, my avenues for recourse are - well, non-existent," he said. "However, I think it might be time to call on the services of our mutual friends."

"You think that will help?" said Oscar.

"I do, in fact," said Dorian. "I'm familiar with how magisters conduct their business, and they would never think I - or any magister - would associate with such people. They don't _see_ them, not really. And that, we can use."

"I'm sorry," said Oscar, moving closer to Dorian. "I thought this business was over."

"So did I," said Dorian. "Perhaps that was foolish."

"That's what you get for trying to be a good person and do the right thing," said Oscar wryly. "The world'll kick you in the balls for it every time."

"Do you suppose it's too late to turn to a life of crime?" said Dorian, catching a droplet of water as it rolled down Oscar's bicep.

"Always worth keeping our options open," said Oscar.

*          *          *

  

The next morning, an unusual group gathered at Dorian’s estate. Mae had arrived with Belinda, George, Bello and Vic in tow, and Sera and Severin had arrived shortly after.

Dorian was glad his Lucerni members were getting to know Sera and Severin – most of them had likely never met an elf who wasn’t a slave, just as he hadn’t before he left the Imperium. He found the fact that Sera had her own network of contacts and influence in Minrathous, entirely unknown to Tevinter’s elite, to be strangely satisfying.

Once everyone was assembled, he recounted the events of the afternoon, and Scaeva’s threats. The expressions around the room became increasingly shocked.

“I can’t believe all of this,” said Mae. “Well, I can, but honestly – I wouldn’t have believed it of Scaeva. Many others, but not him. His name never crops up in these sorts of scandals.”

“With good reason, it turns out,” said Dorian.

“The good reason that he’s a filthy, blackmailing scumbag?” said Sera.

“Well, yes,” said Dorian.

“So we get rid of him?” said Sera.

“Let’s not be too hasty,” said Dorian. “Simply killing him won’t resolve this situation. What we need is to find that evidence.”

"But there were loads of us there!" said Sera. "Can't we just tell someone?"

"Who do you think they will believe?" said Dorian. "A respected senior magister, friends with the Archon, or a couple of southern elves and my _soporati_ lover? No disrespect intended, as you know," he said to them. "But they simply wouldn't listen. They would dismiss most of you on sight, and as for my fellow magisters - they would either believe they were too terrified to speak against me, or that I was using my father's ritual to coerce them."

“You said he made the penalty for poking around too much quite clear,” said Mae.

“He did,” said Dorian. “Which is why we mustn’t be found out.” He looked over at Sera. “I was hoping you might be able to help out, there.”

“Me?” she said.

“Yes. I know there are people and places in this city that you know, that Scaeva and his ilk haven’t any clue about. That might work to our advantage.”

Sera looked thoughtful.

“Help you, and screw over blackmailing bigwigs at the same time? Sounds fun,” she said, grinning. “I bet someone like him has a mansion full of people who want to stick it to him. Or more.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to find anything out?” said Dorian.

“I reckon so,” she said. “Come on,” she said to Severin. “Let’s go find some fun.”

Winking at Dorian, the two of them left.

“That girl has a strange idea of fun,” said Dorian.

“She always has,” said Oscar, recalling a particular rooftop with fondness. “But you can’t deny she gets results.”

“Indeed,” said Dorian. “I have no intention of sitting around waiting for her to get back, however. I suspect this entire situation won’t be resolved peacefully - we should probably prepare ourselves for a fight.”

“Agreed,” said George. “I’ll head back to mine and ready up. Got some things I’ve been saving for a special occasion, so to speak.”

“Why didn’t you bring them when we fought Roe’s men?” asked Vic.

“I had a feeling that wouldn’t be the end of it, young Victor,” she said. “Come. We’ve a lot to do.”

Everyone rose, bid each other farewell and left for their respective homes to prepare for what was to come, leaving Oscar and Dorian alone. Despite his desire to get to the heart of the matter as quickly as possible, without knowing where to strike Dorian was blind, and he sagged onto the sofa in front of the fireplace. After a moment, he felt Oscar’s hand on his shoulder.

“George is right," said Dorian, reaching up to squeeze it. “As though defeating Roe would bring this all neatly to a close. I suppose I simply hoped that he was the end of it – though I knew he couldn't have been working alone. He kept speaking of ‘we’ when he talked about his work.”

“You think Scaeva is a blood mage?” said Oscar, sitting beside him.

“I don’t, actually,” said Dorian, considering. “Although I wouldn’t rule it out, I just - can’t picture it. He’s been outspoken against it in the past, but then, so was Roe. So is every blood mage, at least in public.” He lifted Oscar’s silvery hand into his lap and toyed with the metal fingers, bending the tiny, hinged joints back and forth as he thought.

“I suppose we must be prepared for anything,” he said. “Even if Scaeva isn’t a blood mage, he’s almost certainly working with people who are. Roe told me that once I was dead, another would take my place. If we don’t find this evidence, this could go on for years. Forever. It could destroy the Imperium.”

“Not to mention your reputation,” said Oscar.

“Well, true,” said Dorian. “It may be in tatters as it is, but that doesn’t mean I want it destroyed entirely.”

“When we reveal the truth, people will know the sort of man you truly are, Dorian,” said Oscar. Dorian’s answering smile was slightly sympathetic.

" _Amatus_ ,” he said. “You are entirely too good for this country."

“Varric was right,” said Oscar. “The Imperium doesn’t deserve you.”

“Quite right,” said Dorian. “They should consider themselves lucky. I do hope Varric was wrong in his prediction that the place will kill me, though.”

“I’m certain of it,” he said. “He’s been wrong before. Do you recall the ending to the third part of _Swords and Shields_?”

Dorian grimaced. “Maker. Don’t remind me. An excellent point, though – if he can get something _that_ wrong, then surely he’s wrong about my demise at the hands of my countrymen.”

“Of course,” said Oscar. “Besides, you won’t be fighting alone this time.” He glanced away for a moment.

“I hated having to let you go in there alone, you know,” he said quietly. “I felt like we didn't get there quickly enough. If we had only been a bit faster, you wouldn’t have had to face Roe by yourself.”

“I’m alright, aren’t I?” said Dorian.

“Still. I’m glad I’ll be with you this time. I know I won’t always be here, but I’m truly glad I came when I did. I’d hate to think of you going through this alone.”

Dorian had the support of the Lucerni, as well as Oscar’s constant presence through their crystals, but he understood what his _amatus_ meant. Lying in bed after the events of the night with Roe – having had to carve his way through his own bodyguards to escape and then having to let Roe ‘kill’ him … being able to curl into Oscar’s embrace after all of that had been a balm to his soul. Being able to turn and meet his eyes, and be understood without words, had been a comfort he almost hadn't realised how much he had missed.

Knowing that Oscar would probably have to leave after all of this was resolved made his stomach twist unpleasantly. It was almost too perfect how easily Oscar slotted into his life here – how right it felt to see him lying in his oversized, ornate bed, how lovely it was to share breakfast or show him the marvels of Minrathous, how heavenly it was to be held again by someone who knew him completely – someone who loved him.

But Oscar had built a life for himself in Kirkwall, and Dorian knew he couldn’t pull him away from it, even though he was pretty sure Oscar would come in a heartbeat if he asked. Dorian’s original reasons for not bringing Oscar with him were still valid, too – even more so, now, with everything that was going on.

Having had Oscar here, though, would make it even more difficult to be without him after he was gone, the memory of his presence clinging to every room of his estate. Would he ever be able to make his way up the driveway without remembering their joyous reunion, or pass the pool without remembering easing the pain from Oscar’s travel-stiffened joints? Would he ever be able to lie in his bed again without remembering Oscar’s warmth by his side, or waking up to his sleepy smile?

Oscar was watching him, now, his eyes gentle.

“Copper for your thoughts?” he said. It was not an expression Dorian had heard before he went to the south, but he liked it.

“I was simply thinking about the future,” he said. “The challenges to come.”

“Don’t worry,” said Oscar. “We’ll figure them out. We always do. Well – eventually, anyway.”

Dorian looked at him, at the soft, lopsided smile he loved so dearly, and raised his hand to run a thumb along the fine scars at one corner of his husband’s mouth.

“Indeed we shall, _amatus_ ,” he said, the metal fingers still entwined with his own. He was silent for a moment.

“Scaeva believes I’ll simply toe the line, that I won't try anything foolish,” he continued. "He believes I’m my father’s son – that I’ll simply accept that _that's how things are_ and not rock the boat.” He met Oscar's gaze, his expression determined.

“But I am not my father,” he said. “We’re going to find that evidence, and put an end to this. I will not begin my career here with this hanging over me, even if it would, supposedly, work in my favour. I am a magister of Tevinter," he said, sitting straighter. His lip curled up in a smirk.

"Do you recall what the Qunari call we mages?" he said.

"Of course," said Oscar. " _Saarebas_."

"Do you know what it means?"

"Dangerous thing, if I recall correctly."

Dorian's face broke into a determined smile.

"I'll show them just how dangerous a thing I can be," he said.


	25. Arcana Imperii

Over the next few days, Dorian continued his quiet enquiries to no avail as they waited to hear from Sera. Every person he had sent messages to was either mysteriously unavailable or had ignored him entirely. After three days had passed with no word he began to feel uneasy, and could tell Oscar was feeling it as well every time their eyes met. Neither of them wanted to sit around and wait for news, but given the sensitivity of the situation, Dorian's investigations couldn't be too overt. The rest of his allies - Mae, George and the rest - were already known associates of his, and drew enough attention as it was without asking too many awkward questions.

They were sitting in the reception room one evening, paying absolutely no attention to a game of chess, when they heard voices in the atrium. Oscar's gaze snapped to Dorian's, and as one they were out of their seats.

In the atrium, Sera was yelling at a bewildered-looking servant, while Severin stood off to one side, arms folded. His expression was as implacable as ever, but Dorian thought he could see a hint of amusement in his face. One of the guards Mae had sent to work for Dorian was standing next to the servant, hand on the pommel of his sword, blocking Sera's way.

"-it's _important_!" yelled Sera.

"We have our orders, er - Miss," said the servant. "Given recent events, we must make sure that all - "

"This is about recent events! Idiot!"

"There's no need for that, I was simply - "

"Surely you recognise my friends by now?"

Dorian's voice rang out through the atrium, and the commotion silenced.

"Of course, my Lord," said the servant, straightening slightly. "But your - _friends_ were attempting to bring in someone unknown to us, and as per your orders, we were - "

Sera let out a frustrated groan, before barging past the servant and guard, followed by a hooded figure.

"And surely _you_ know that arriving late at night, unannounced, might concern the guards?" said Dorian amusedly, his gaze flicking between Sera and the visitor. Sera rolled her eyes.

"I told you, it's important," she said. "No time for that shite. Didn't think _you_ cared so much about all that, anyway."

"It's not that I care about the pleasantries, as much as I care about armed strangers roaming around my house."

"Alright, I get it," said Sera. "I'll send a bloody herald next time. Now listen!" She glanced over her shoulder at the servant and guard, who were watching with interest.

"Where can we talk?" she hissed.

"Thank you both," said Dorian loudly, making them all jump. "You may return to your duties."

Servant and soldier both looked slightly disappointed, but nodded politely before turning to leave. Sera watched them go, craning her neck after them to make sure they were far enough away before she turned back to the group.

"Okay," she said, elbowing her hooded companion. "Tell 'em."

The figure stepped forward, lowering her hood to reveal a face Dorian didn't recognise.

"Sandy?" said Oscar from beside him.

"Yeah," said the woman, smiling as she unwound the thick scarf covering the lower part of her face. "Maker, I'm boiling."

"You know her?" said Dorian to Oscar.

"I'm a _friend_ ," said Sandy.

"Ah," said Dorian, understanding.

"We met a few weeks ago, in the tavern," explained Oscar.

"So why the secrecy?" said Dorian.

"Servants talk," said Sandy with a shrug. "If word got back to my master that I was seen at your estate ... No offense, ser," she added with a smirk.

"None taken," said Dorian, smiling. "I take it from your sudden arrival that something's happened?"

"Yes", said Sera urgently. "The stuff, Scaeva's stuff. We found it!"

Dorian's expression sobered.

"Are you quite sure that - "

Before he could continue, they all wheeled around at the sudden sound of footsteps echoing across the atrium. Mae appeared first, followed by George, Vic, Bello and finally Belinda, her silverite armour gleaming in the low light.

“Your elves sent word,” said George by way of greeting.

“We’re not his _elves_ ,” said Sera, scowling. “We’re his _friends_.”

“Of course,” said George, contrite. “My apologies."

"You have impeccable timing," said Dorian to the newcomers. "It seems we have news."

"We heard," said Mae. At the arrival of so many visitors, several servants had appeared in the atrium, peering expectantly at the group, waiting to be handed staves, bags or travelling cloaks.

"Follow me," said Dorian in a low voice. He led the group away from the staring servants to the reception room, where they seated themselves around the fireplace. Belinda remained standing by the door, listening for noises outside, and with all the seats taken, Oscar perched on the arm of Dorian's chair.

"Alright, we're alone," said Dorian. "Finally. What have you discovered?"

"Sera told us a few days ago to keep our eyes open for stuff turning up mysteriously," said Sandy. "Boxes, she said. And something to do with Magister Scaeva. I know who he is, but I didn't expect to see anything at my place. Couldn't believe it when he turned up last night."

"Scaeva himself?" said Dorian in surprise.

"Yep," said Sandy. "He's been to our place before - not for ages, though."

“And he brought boxes with him?" said Dorian. 

“I didn't _see_ him with them," she said, "but my master had some of us carry some boxes down into his vault,” she said. “Didn’t think much of it until Sera started asking questions about Scaeva.”

“What was in the boxes?” said Dorian. “Do you know?”

“Nah,” said Sandy. “They don’t tell us stuff like that. Would you tell your servants that stuff?”

“Probably not,” admitted Dorian. “But it could be anything. Your master could just be putting his summer wardrobe away for the season.”

“But these weren’t my master’s stuff,” said Sandy. “That’s why I thought it was off. Scaeva turned up, well late, and suddenly we have to start shifting all these boxes. Master looked proper happy about it. I think a favour from Scaeva - "

“That rhymes!” said Sera, with a cackle. The others stared at her.

“Anyway,” said Dorian. “I see what you mean. I’m sure some of Scaeva’s cronies would be eager to help him, no questions asked.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Sandy. “My master would. Massive social climber. And bell end,” she added under her breath.

“Yes, well,” said Mae. “Do you think we’d be able to get access to this vault?”

“You might be able to, but there wouldn’t be much point,” said Sandy.

“That’s why she’s here,” said Sera. “They’re moving the stuff. Somewhere else.”

“So we ambush them!” said George enthusiastically.

“That – might be an option,” said Mae. “But as we don’t have any information about where the pieces are being moved to, unless your plan is to lurk in the bushes outside Magister … who is your master, by the way, Sandy?”

“Magister Agorian.”

“Ah,” said Mae. “That explains a lot. He’s been eyeing your father’s empty seat on the consiliare, Dorian,” she continued. “He’d jump at any chance to get in Scaeva’s good books.”

“Including ensuring the protection of sensitive information, I’m sure,” said Dorian. “No doubt Scaeva spun him some guff about how he’d be doing it for the good of the Imperium and what have you – probably dangled that consiliari position in front of him like a carrot.”

“We also heard it’s being moved tonight,” said Sera.

“Tonight?” repeated Oscar in surprise. “So soon?”

“They must suspect we’ll try and get to it, wherever it is now,” said Dorian. “The place they’re moving it to will undoubtedly be protected – and not just by soldiers, I’m sure. Blood magic sigils, traps, the whole works. This is not the sort of information you just leave lying around in a box somewhere.” He regarded Sandy again.

“Do you know who is to be involved in moving the evidence?” he said. “Not you, I take it, given your presence here?”

“Nope,” said Sandy. “My master has different groups of people working for him. Doesn’t trust us to do stuff like this all the way through. We’d know too much. So one group does the first bit. Another the second.”

“But don’t you all know each other?” said Oscar with a frown. “Doesn’t he think you might talk?”

“The rest don’t _get_ to talk, stupid,” said Sera angrily. “They’re disposable.”

“But you aren’t?” said Oscar to Sandy. Sera’s scowl deepened.

“What, you think she should be?" she said hotly.

“Of course not,” said Oscar. “I simply wondered why someone like this magister would consider some of the slaves involved more valuable than others. Why leave anyone alive? It just seems – oddly careless.”

“I can’t say I’m complaining,” said Sandy.

“No,” said Oscar. “But didn’t it cross your mind that it was odd?”

“I guess I thought – "

The group fell silent as shouts from outside reached their ears.

“I didn't see anyone following us,” said Severin quietly.

“Tevinter assassins have ways of moving without being seen,” whispered Dorian. “I suggest we arm ourselves, and fast.” He called magic to his hands, and at the glow, Sera grabbed her bow.

“Meet in the atrium,” Dorian said to Oscar. “Quickly.” Oscar nodded, before dashing deeper into the house for his weapon.

“The rest of you,” said Dorian. “Go out the back way, through the servants’ quarters. Get back to the city, and grab what you need. We'll meet at Magister Agorian’s estate, as quickly as we can get there.”

“What about you?” said Sera.

“We’ll see you there,” said Dorian firmly.

“You’d better,” said Sera, pouting slightly. “Didn’t save Inky from Coryphelus and Qunari and shit to have him shanked in your living room.”

“Quite,” said Dorian, ushering them to the door. “Be careful.”

"Dorian -" started Mae, looking as though she wanted to protest.

"Go," said Dorian, more firmly. "We'll be right behind you." Mae held his gaze for a moment.

"Follow quickly," she said, before turning and heading after the others.

They disappeared like shadows into the bowels of the estate, and Dorian retrieved his staff. He always kept it close – while he could defend himself without it, he was orders of magnitude stronger with it, as all mages were. This particular staff had been handcrafted for him by Dagna, and was entirely unique. He had seen many jealous looks from his fellow magisters, most of whom, he was sure, would love to get their hands on it.

_Over my dead body_ , he thought, feeling its reassuring weight in his hands and hoping that wouldn't end up being the case.

The sound of footsteps told him Oscar was returning, and sure enough a moment later he appeared, metal fingers fastened around his buckler and golden sword in hand.

“I haven’t used this hand with the buckler before,” he said. “I rather like it.”

“Will you be alright with it?” said Dorian worriedly.

“Of course,” said Oscar. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Sorry,” said Dorian, recalling an earlier conversation. “Husband’s prerogative.”

"The others have gone?"

"Yes," said Dorian. "They'll -" 

A noise behind them made them both wheel around.

“What was – "

Oscar didn’t get a chance to finish the thought as a dark shadow appeared beside him, heading straight for Dorian. He jumped forward, immediately putting himself between the intruder and his husband, raising his arm to protect him.

As the hooded figure collided with his outstretched arm, a shining shield of magical energy appeared from the gleaming runes on Oscar’s prosthetic. As quickly as it appeared it dissipated, but it had been enough to throw the man back. The force of the repelling spell sent Oscar’s buckler clattering to the floor.

Dorian sent a sizzling bolt of lightning at the man, but like most assassins in Tevinter his armour was highly magic-resistant, and Dorian had only been intending to stun him. He staggered for only a second before darting forward again, his hand plunging into his robes. As Dorian was about to throw a barrage of spells at him, a movement in the corner of his eye made him swing around to see a second intruder almost upon him.

This time, Dorian’s spell was at its full strength, and the man burned away into ash.

Dorian turned back just in time to see the flash of the first assassin’s dagger as it plunged into the bulk of Oscar’s body.

“No!” he cried, but Oscar stood quite still. After a moment, he raised his prosthetic, the shining dagger skewered through the wrist. The assassin had frozen, staring in disbelief at Oscar's arm - In the darkness, the silvery contraption looked like any other gloved hand, albeit with a sharp, spiked blade sticking out of it.

Oscar regarded the ornate dagger sticking through his wrist with interest.

“This is rather nice,” he said to the man. “Can I keep it?”

The man swallowed visibly, before turning towards the door he had entered through, preparing to run. In a moment, he was a second pile of ash on the floor next to his colleague.

"Looks like I _can_ keep it,” said Oscar, yanking the dagger out with his other hand and sticking it into his belt.

“You shouldn't have jumped in front of me,” hissed Dorian. “If he’d been a couple of inches higher – "

“Well, he wasn’t,” said Oscar.

“What was that barrier?”

“A little enhancement of Dagna’s,” said Oscar. “I’m not sure if it’ll work again with the damage, though.” He picked up his buckler from the floor.

“Come on. I doubt he was alone – let’s get out of here.”

Dorian cast a barrier around the two of them, and they disappeared into the night. He had sent the others ahead, hoping that the assassins wouldn't pursue them once they had found him at home. He had considered telling Oscar to leave with them, but knew he would never have gone.

Oscar and Dorian’s journey into the city was remarkably assassin-free, until they turned a corner and saw a group of men wearing the same dark, spiked leathers as their previous intruders, dead on the ground with several bright arrows protruding from their chests. One had a scrap of scarlet fabric tied on the end.

“Our foul-mouthed guardian angel,” said Dorian, looking at the bodies.

“That explains why it’s been so quiet,” said Oscar. “Two of them must have gotten away, and made it to the house.”

“Hopefully this was the last of them,” said Dorian. “For now, at least.”

"What do you suppose happened to your guards?"

"I didn't see their bodies," said Dorian thoughtfully. "They must have given chase. Hopefully they'll be waiting for us on our return."

They arrived at the approach to Magister Agorian’s estate, and peered around the corner to the gates.

“We don’t actually need to get in,” said Dorian. “It might be easier if we simply wait for them to leave, and catch them before they reach their destination.”

“Someone’s coming,” hissed Oscar, and they ducked. The footsteps got closer, and closer, and Dorian exchanged a look with his husband, who nodded back.

As the newcomers reached them, they jumped out as one, ready to attack.

“Stop!” hissed George. “It’s us.” The whole group was there, along with Sera and Severin. They all looked unharmed, the mages' staves glowing in the darkness.

"We got here a while ago – where have you been?” said Mae.

“We had a little trouble with assassins,” said Dorian. “All dealt with now, of course.”

“Shit,” said Sera. “I thought we got them all.”

“All but two, it seems,” said Dorian. “We’d have been vastly outnumbered if not for you.”

“Anyway, never mind that,” she said. “That’s why we were looking for you. They already left! With the stuff!”

“What?” said Dorian. “When? Do you know where they were going?”

“Yeah,” said Sera sadly. “We sneaked in with Sandy, managed to listen to what the mercs were saying. They’re taking it to the Argentarium."

“Where is Sandy?” said Oscar, peering around. Sera’s head bowed.

“Bunch of soldiers appeared,” she said. “Sandy ran out to distract ‘em so we could get away. Idiot.” She scowled. “I never wanted that! Not people dying so I can run off. Never that!”

Oscar squeezed her shoulder.

“I understand,” he said gently. “But she gave her life to save yours. She was brave to the very end, and now we need to make her sacrifice worthwhile.”

“Too right,” said Sera, wiping her noise with the back of her hand. “I’ll kill every one of the bastards. They won’t know what hit ‘em. Well, except that it’s an arrow.”

Oscar smiled encouragingly, and the group assembled.

“To the Argentarium, then,” said Dorian, and they set off.

Without a carriage, the group were able to duck down alleyways and side passages, passing through the city’s outskirts far more quickly than they would have been able to while sticking to main roads.

“May I ask,” said George, huffing along beside Dorian, “how you know quite so much about the back streets of the slums?”

Dorian glanced over at Oscar, who was smiling knowingly.

“I’m a man of experience,” he said. “Let us simply leave it at that.”

Behind him, Mae snorted.

They reached the Argentarium and paused outside, glancing around. All was quiet, the two guards posted outside looking bored as they stared out across the courtyard.

“So this is where the rich and powerful store their gold?” said Oscar, looking up at the immense pillars outside.

“Among other things,” said Dorian. “That’s what most people believe – and to be fair, they do actually store vast amounts of gold in it. They also store magical artifacts, scrolls, books – I’ve always wanted to get inside for a proper look, but the penalty for entering without permission is – “ He paused for effect. “Severe.”

“You’re a magister,” said Oscar. “Couldn’t you get permission?”

“I tried, once,” said Vic. “Summarily rejected. I always thought it was a conspiracy – though I assumed it was all about money, not blood magic. I thought you could only get in if you could afford to pay them off – which was what confused me, because naturally, I could afford it.”

“Naturally,” said Dorian caustically. Everyone was well aware that Vic – and every other magister present – was well off, but the young man seemed to be unaware that it was considered gauche to talk about it quite so openly.

“Are they already here?” said Sera.

“I doubt they’d just drive up to the front entrance,” said George.

“There’s a back entrance,” said Bello suddenly. Everyone jumped at his deep voice from the back of the group.

“There is?” said Dorian. “Where?”

“It’s underground,” said Bello. “There’s a covered trapdoor, and then long tunnels.”

“How do you know this?” said Mae.

“I’m a man of experience,” said Bello, his white teeth glinting as he grinned.

“Clearly,” said Dorian in surprise. They all wheeled around, and then ducked, as a carriage arrived, crossing the courtyard. Masked and helmeted men stepped out, unloading locked boxes.

“Apparently they _would_ just drive up to the front entrance,” said Vic.

“We’re too late,” said George, crestfallen. “We can hardly get to them out in the open like this. They’d call their fellows from inside and we’d be swarmed.”

“You’re _magisters_!” said Sera in disbelief. “What are those idiots going to do against five bloody magisters?”

“Stab us with their magebane-coated weapons?” said Vic dryly.

Dorian thought for a moment, and then turned to face Oscar.

“An idea occurs to me,” he said. “Do you recall Redcliffe?”

Oscar blinked.

“I recall many things about Redcliffe,” he said. “Anything in particular?”

“I was thinking about when you paid Alexius a visit,” said Dorian. “Under the pretence of a parley.”

"Ah,” said Oscar, and Dorian saw understanding dawn on his handsome face. “You’re proposing the rest take the tunnels, and we take the front door.”

“Precisely,” said Dorian. “Ready to be bait again, _amatus_?”

“Why not?” said Oscar, shrugging. “Though – will they let you simply walk in? Aren’t they expecting you?”

“Scaeva and his co-conspirators, certainly,” said Dorian. “But these fellows are simply paid to guard the gates. All we need is for them to get us inside – and since the popular rumour is that I’m a powerful blood mage, I should think they would believe such a story.”

“It’s very risky, Dorian,” said Oscar.

“Not really,” said Dorian. “If it doesn’t work, we simply kill them – which still provides the distraction the others need.”

“Alright,” said Oscar. “We can but try.”

“That’s the spirit,” he said. “The rest of you – head to the tunnels. If Oscar and I can get in, we’ll meet you inside. Otherwise – we’ll retreat to my office at the Magisterium. No one would be fool enough to attack me there – it would expose them instantly.”

“Be careful, Dorian,” said Mae, grasping his arm.

“You, too,” he said, grasping hers back. “Don’t worry – once all this is over, we’ll celebrate with as much Orlesian champagne and as many candied figs as we can stomach.”

“I think your husband’s optimism is rubbing off on you,” she said wryly. “We’ll see you inside.”

The group headed off around the edge of the building, sticking to the shadows, and Dorian turned to Oscar. To his surprise, Sera was still standing with them.

“Sera,” he said. “You aren’t going in with the others?”

“Forget it,” she said. “I’m not sneaking around while other people walk into danger for me. You’re walking in the front door, then so am I.”

“Alright,” said Dorian with a smile. “Just – let me do the talking.”

“You always do, anyway,” said Sera.

Dorian tutted, and once the coast was clear, led the other two across the courtyard. The guards straightened as he approached.

Straightening, putting on the most imperious air he could muster, Dorian strode across to one of the guards.

“You there,” he snapped. “I am Magister Pavus. No doubt you know of me. Magister Scaeva has asked me to oversee the transfer of these artifacts. I am an expert on their contents, and the fragile nature of some of the pieces within means my presence is quite vital to their appropriate storage.”

The guards exchanged a look.

“The magister’s people said nothing about your presence, my Lord,” one of them said, his voice trembling. Clearly he was not used to denying a magister’s requests. Dorian decided to use that to his advantage.

“Of course not,” he blustered. “Magister Scaeva is an important man. Why in the world would he tell you all of his private affairs, especially when they do not concern you? I’m sure he informed you of the importance of the pieces arriving tonight?”

“Yes, my Lord,” said the guard. “He told us their security was vital to the security of the Imperium.”

“He’s quite right,” said Dorian. “These artifacts are of immeasurable power. If they are improperly handled, or stored, this entire building could be at risk.”

“Truly?” said the other guard. The first shushed him, and Dorian tried very hard not to smile.

“Truly,” he said seriously. “I am sure you gentlemen have heard of my … interests,” he continued. They exchanged another look.

“I … we have, my Lord.”

“Then you can understand why my presence here would be of great use,” said Dorian. He stepped closer.

“To be honest,” he said quietly. “I think it unwise to store such artifacts in a public building, putting fine soldiers such as yourselves at such great risk. You work hard for the Imperium each and every day – I only hope I’m able to attend to the items in those crates before your colleagues blow us all sky-high.”

He had them. They exchanged a look, and a nod, before stepping aside.

“Thank you for your assistance, Magister,” one of them murmured, as Dorian and the others passed.

“You are most welcome,” said Dorian earnestly, biting back a laugh.

Inside, they found themselves in a dark atrium, and paused for a moment, listening for any sounds of movement. A lit torch was visible ahead of them, and they hurried towards it, their footsteps echoing on the polished marble floor.

“Laid it on rather thick, didn’t you, love?” whispered Oscar amusedly.

“It worked, didn’t it?” said Dorian in a hiss. “That’s how you get them, usually – say it’s for the good of the Imperium.”

Sera snorted.

“It worked on you,” she said. Dorian frowned in annoyance.

“Yes, well,” he said. “Ssssh. We’re getting closer.”

One of the many doors leading off the atrium was ajar, and when they reached it, they pushed it open to reveal a stone staircase leading downwards.

“Come on, then,” said Sera. “Let’s get your stuff.”

“There will likely be blood mages here,” he said. “Be careful, both of you.”

“You and all,” said Sera.

They descended the staircase, and found themselves in a long hallway.

“Hasn’t this been a bit easy?” said Oscar. “I thought this place was supposed to be impregnable. So far, we’ve encountered two of Thedas’s softest guards, and that’s all. What of the traps, armed guards, magical sigils?”

“I’ll admit, it isn’t how I imagined,” said Dorian. “Then again, perhaps Scaeva arranged it this way. I’m sure he didn’t want magical traps springing all over the place while his people were working.”

“Do you think he’ll be here himself?” said Oscar.

“I doubt it, said Dorian. “He’s worked hard to distance himself from all of this. And besides, so far his methods have mostly involved getting other people to risk themselves for him, rather than doing any of it himself.”

"But he went to Magister Agorian's," said Oscar. "Why did he send the pieces there first? And only for one night?"

Dorian sighed.

"It would appear our friends' efforts didn't escape his notice as much as we'd hoped," he said heavily.

"What?" said Sera. "He knew? About Sandy?"

"He may not have known it was her specifically, but it seems he found out one of Agorian's servants was helping me out, somehow," said Dorian. "If his assassins should fail, then Sandy would lead us right here."

"So we're just going along with it?" said Sera incredulously.

"We have little choice," said Dorian. "The evidence is here, and once it's locked away with the Argentarium's protections re-established, we'll likely never get to it. This is our only chance."

“We're getting quite deep underground,” said Oscar. “I wonder where the others are?”

From the distance, they heard the unmistakable sound of something exploding.

“I think we’ve found the others,” said Oscar.

They broke into a run, heading for the source of the sound. No doubt the bang would have alerted the front guards, who would fetch backup after Dorian’s dire warnings about explosions.

Wheeling around a corner, they saw, far ahead, the unmistakable flashes of spells being cast. Wielding his staff, Dorian heard Oscar unsheathe his sword beside him, and they raced forward.

The rest of the group were in a pitched battle with a group in dark clothing – there were both soldiers and mages among their number, several bodies already on the ground. Dorian’s heart lurched as he saw the familiar outline of George among them. The rest were still fighting, the mages firing off spell after spell, Severin ducking among the enemy, stabbing his daggers wherever he could see an opening. Belinda was holding off an enormous foot soldier wielding an impossibly huge maul, keeping him off-balance with her shield long enough to prevent his wide swings from taking out half of the group.

Electricity crackled around the corridor as Dorian cast his first spell, and Oscar charged forward. He brought the buckler upwards under the jaw of a helmeted soldier, making him stagger long enough for Oscar’s golden sword to pierce him through the chest.

Every time Dorian thought his small group was turning the tide, more men would appear from doors along the corridor, or from the stairs they had used. After a while, the majority of the soldiers were dead, the mages battling on. Bello used the lack of soldiers to his advantage, and closed the distance with the nearest blood mage, bringing his bright staff blade across her chest. She fell with a gurgle, and her fellows immediately blasted Bello back with a wave of magic.

One of the blood mages suddenly screamed, clutching at her head, before bringing her ornate dagger across her forearm in a slash. As the blood flowed, she turned its power on her allies, a rush of dark magic surrounding them. Dorian finished weaving the spell before turning to continue raining fire down on the new arrivals to the hall.

This must have been why their entry to the archive had been so unimpeded, he supposed. Letting them believe the building was guarded by two soldiers and a handful of blood mages would no doubt lead them to come in hugely outnumbered.

And they _were_ outnumbered – but Scaeva had underestimated them, Dorian thought to himself as his opponent crumbled to dust from the heat of his spell. More than likely, the man had not bothered to look into the rumours he had no doubt heard of the dread Inquisitor, or he would know what a formidable warrior he was.

Dorian had worried at first that Oscar would be vulnerable in battle. Not a liability, exactly, but that being unable to wield his enormous shield would leave him open to attacks.

It was true that without the shield – and his heavy golden plate – Oscar was more open than he had once been, but it seemed he had learned to compensate; without the weight of the armour he was free to dodge, using his opponent’s weight against them where possible. He had always been a strong and graceful fighter, and now used the small buckler to great effect, pushing back with all of his considerable strength when an opponent got too close. And his sword arm was as strong as ever, Dorian noted.

After some time, there were few of the enemy left standing. George had staggered back to her feet, but was now back on the ground. Vic was slumped against a wall, bleeding, Severin kneeling next to him pressing fabric against the wound.

Dorian glanced around the room. The blood mages had retreated into the tunnels - he wasn’t certain how many remained, but at a guess, and assuming more didn't arrive to assist, he would say less than five, given the numbers of bodies littering the floor.

The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as a familiar, horrifying chill spread across the room. Turning, he threw up a barrier just in time to avoid the claws of a fiery rage demon as it sprung from the floor. Mae encased it in ice, and Oscar appeared at his side a moment later, shattering it with a rapid strike from his sword.

Another appeared, surrounded by shades, slithering across the floor like inky shadows. Sera’s arrow found the heart of one of the blood mages, who fell with a gurgle. Another sent a shade squealing towards her, before Severin distracted it with a number of slashes, black gall spewing out over his arms. Dorian finished it off with a jolt of electricity, and turned in time to see another collapse into nothing at the point of Oscar’s sword. Bello’s blade sent the final rage demon back into the abyss.

Three blood mages remained, and one of them stepped forward.

“Scaeva said you would come,” he said from behind his mask. “He said you were foolish enough to think you could get past all of us.”

“There are only three of you left,” said Dorian mildly. “Perhaps it wasn't such a foolish notion.”

“We do not need any more,” said the leader, and as one, they pulled bright blades from their robes.

“Now, Belinda,” said Mae, who was leaning heavily on her staff.

With an apologetic glance back at the mages, Belinda took a breath, and the hallway suddenly filled with blazing light. Dorian gasped as the purge swept through the space, sending him to his knees.

The first time he had experienced it, fighting alongside Cassandra, he had thought he was dying, for a moment. The purge had swept away his magic and momentarily blocked his access to his mana, and it had felt like losing one of his senses. He had understood something of the fear the southern mages had for their templars in that moment. Being able to pull on his magic again once it had passed had been one of the sweetest feelings of his life up to that point.

The enemy mages were obviously unaccustomed to such powers as well, and the momentary interruption was enough for their barriers to drop. In a storm of arrows and blades, the three _soporati_ – Sera, Oscar and Belinda – finished them off.

Oscar was immediately at Dorian’s side, pulling him to his feet.

“You’ll be fine,” said Belinda soothingly, clapping him on the arm as she passed. “My Lady, are you alright?” she said, taking Mae’s hands and helping her stand.

Dorian huffed out a sigh, taking deep breaths as his mana began to regenerate. He summoned a tendril of magic to close a tiny wound on Oscar’s cheek, relief coursing through him at the sensation.

“I’m alright,” he said. “The purge is never very pleasant. But it did the trick.”

Dorian had once explained to Oscar what it felt like. While he could never truly understand, he knew how deeply unsettling Dorian found it, and squeezed his arm briefly in comfort.

They made their way over to the others.

“Is everyone alright?” said Dorian, regarding the group.

“George had a nasty knock on the head,” said Mae. “But she’ll be fine.”

“Bastard of a headache, though,” said George, who was sporting an impressive black eye, her monocle shattered. Mae crouched at her side, and held her hand up to George’s swollen eye, bright light emanating from her palm. George squinted as the swelling began to subside.

“Vic?” said Oscar. “Are you alright?”

“No, I’m not bloody alright,” said Vic. “I’m a pincushion, is what I am.”

“Vic is fine,” said Bello. “The wound is not deep.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” grumbled Vic.

“Come on,” said Dorian. “No doubt Scaeva will send people to check what’s happened. I think it would be best if all they found were a pile of corpses, don’t you?”

Heading through the door ahead of them, they finally found what they were looking for. The notes and items recovered from Roe’s hideout were all here – the items only filled a few crates, one containing the shattered pieces of Roe’s blood magic artifact.

“So much loss of life, for such a small amount of things,” said Oscar, looking over the notes in Dorian’s hands.

“True,” said Dorian. “But far more lives have been lost for far smaller things. They knew what they were getting into.”

They lifted the boxes and followed Bello – who had a supporting arm around George’s waist – back into the winding tunnels that led to the trapdoor.

Emerging back into the streets, they headed quickly towards the Magisterium. Ironically, it was the safest place for them to be at the moment – unlike the Argentarium, its wards were still active, and any attackers would find themselves surrounded by guards and templars in mere seconds.

Besides, Dorian thought to himself as he regarded his small group, clearly they could take care of themselves.

He glanced sideways at Oscar, looking at the buckler, which had a nasty gash across its small surface. Along with the hole now present in his prosthetic, Oscar had come far closer to the thick of the fighting than Dorian would have liked. Naturally, though, he had distinguished himself.

“You were quite something in that battle,” he said quietly. “I’m glad I got to see you fight with that new arm of yours.”

“Thank you,” said Oscar. "For a while I honestly wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to fight again,” he added. “I’m still not sure how effective it is, but at least I’m not totally defenceless.”

“You were far from defenceless back there,” said Dorian. “It's quite extraordinary, how far you've come, _amatus_.”

Oscar smiled at him, pride in his eyes.

Once back at the Magisterium building, the night guards give them strange looks, but did nothing to impede the progress of half a dozen magisters, no matter who was accompanying them. Once safely in Dorian’s office, they spread the notes over his desk, and Dorian looked them over.

It was all here, all right. Not just his father’s notes, but letters to accomplices confirming who the ritual was to be used on next, lists of suppliers and equipment required…

“No rather they went to such efforts to hide this,” said Oscar. “Rather damning.”

“Why not just burn it?” said Severin.

“They still need it, I imagine,” said Dorian. “This is rare and unusual magic, and the notes would be needed for further study.”

“Some things should still be burned,” said Sera. “Too dangerous to exist.”

“Before anyone does any burning, perhaps we should get Dorian’s name cleared?” said Mae.

“Agreed,” said Oscar. “But who can we trust?”

“I don’t think it’s a matter of trust,” said Dorian. “We simply have to make it too obvious for them to ignore.” He turned to his fellow magisters.

“Tomorrow’s session,” he said. “I believe there is a very dull speech on the agenda by Magister Cressida, about the state of the Imperial highway in the outer towns. I think, perhaps, it could use hijacking?”

“That will be the most exciting _Any Other Business_ we’ve seen for a long time,” said Mae. “I’ll stand with you, of course."

“We all will,” said George.

“Thank you,” said Dorian. He looked at the hard-won notes and items littering his desk. Being so close to clearing his name, he was loath to let them out of his sight.

“I suppose I’d better make myself comfortable,” he said with a sigh. “Looks like I’ll be spending a cosy night at the office.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” said Mae. “You could just post guards,” she added.

“I could – but frankly, with everything that’s happened, I can’t say I’d get any sleep anyway, if I weren’t here.”

“I understand,” said Mae. “We’ll come back first thing, to make sure all’s well before the Magisterium convenes.”

“Right,” said Dorian. “Ser Darrow – will you make sure the others get back alright?”

“Of course,” said Belinda, nodding. “And you can call me Belinda, you know,” she added with a smile.

“Alright, Belinda,” said Dorian. “The rest of you, get yourselves home and get patched up, and send me a message at once if anything happens.”

“Unless we’re dead,” said Vic.

“Well, yes,” said Dorian, folding his arms. “And you need not attend the morning’s session as well, in that event.”

“Thank you so much,” drawled Vic.

“You’re very welcome,” said Dorian. “Off you go, then.”

“What about us?” said Sera, glancing at Severin, who was standing silently in a corner.

“I think you both deserve a rest too,” said Dorian.

“Come with me,” said George. “Lots of rooms at my place. You can get your heads down for a bit.”

“Oh,” said Sera in surprise. “Alright. Thanks. You got any food?”

“More than you can shake a stick at,” said George. Sera frowned.

“Why do you posh people always talk weird?” she said. “Is that a yes or what?”

“Er,” said George. “Yes. Lots of food.”

“Why didn’t you just say that? Good! Great. Let’s go,” said Sera, heading for the door. The others followed, leaving Dorian and Oscar alone.

“They’re good people,” said Oscar, rubbing his neck. “I’m glad you have them as friends.”

“Friends?” echoed Dorian. “I don't know if I'd say that – though I don’t know all of them terribly well, with the exception of Mae.”

“They’ve seemed very keen to come to your aid, even when it put their lives and reputations in danger,” said Oscar. “That sounds like something friends do to me.”

“I wouldn’t read quite that much into it,” said Dorian, even though he was warmed by Oscar’s words. “They joined our cause, and it’s that they believe in, not me.”

“Can’t it be both?” said Oscar.

“Perhaps,” said Dorian. “Though it will take time to undo the damage all of this has done,” he added, indicating the papers on his desk.

“I’m sure showing it all to the Magisterium will help,” said Oscar. “Can’t get more public than that.”

“I suppose I could stand on a box in a corner of the marketplace, shouting it at passersby,” said Dorian. “Though I’m fairly certain that would get me carted off to an asylum, rather than gain me allies.”

“I recall you putting down the idea of politics being carried out by shouting the loudest,” said Oscar, working at the straps on the buckler. “Now it seems that’s your plan after all.”

“Well, on very rare occasions it’s certainly an option,” said Dorian. A yawn caught him by surprise.

“I suppose this will be our bed for the night, _amatus_ ,” he said, indicating the large, leather sofa on the other side of the room. Oscar regarded it for a moment.

“Well,” he said. “I’ve slept in worse places.”

“Quite,” said Dorian. “And without the pleasure of my company, I imagine.”

“It’s true,” said Oscar. “Give me a hand, would you?” he said, indicating his prosthetic.

“Really,” said Dorian in disapproval, working on the straps. “Will you ever retire that joke?”

“I doubt it,” said Oscar. “I think I’ve earned the right to use it as much as I like.”

Dorian gently pulled away the arm, placing it on his desk. While Oscar pulled off the sock underneath and prepared for sleep, Dorian gathered all of the evidence and documents on his desk, carefully placing it into the boxes and fastening the locks.

By the time he was done, Oscar was sitting on the edge of the sofa, stripped down to his undershirt and breeches, rubbing his eyes.

“Come along,” he said, a yawn of his own escaping. “I’m exhausted. And you must be, too.”

“I am,” he said. “A moment.” He pulled a blanket from a drawer and tossed it to Oscar, who shook it open while Dorian undressed.

Before heading to the sofa, Dorian placed a ward on the door, and turned the lanterns low. He picked his way over to the sofa in the resulting near-darkness, where Oscar was already stretched out, holding the blanket up for him to slip underneath.

It was a tight fit for both of them, but Dorian couldn’t find it in himself to care too much as he leaned back against Oscar’s chest, his husband covering them both with the soft blanket. They could both use a bath, he thought to himself as he settled, but at that moment he found he didn’t mind.

“Why do you have this here?” said Oscar, as Dorian tugged on the edge of the blanket. “Have you slept here before?”

“On occasion,” said Dorian. “Sometimes it gets so late, I don’t feel much like making the journey home.”

“Sounds like when we were at Skyhold,” said Oscar. “I can’t remember the number of times I found you asleep in that chair of yours.”

“Do you truly have it in Kirkwall?” said Dorian.

“I do,” said Oscar sleepily. “In my study. I like to sit in it when we talk.”

“It’ll be nice to see it again, when I visit,” Dorian said thoughtfully.

“You plan to visit, then?” said Oscar, sounding surprised.

“Of course,” said Dorian. “I want to see this estate of yours – not to mention Dagna’s workshop of marvels.”

“And Alexius.”

“Yes,” said Dorian. “As uncomfortable as it will no doubt be. I’m glad he’s found a place, but still.”

“Well, you know you can visit any time,” murmured Oscar. He pressed a kiss to Dorian's shoulder. “Good night, love. Get some sleep.”

They lapsed into silence, but Dorian’s thoughts still raced.

Oscar’s words about his allies believing in him had stuck in his mind. After everything they had been through, he was starting to view the members of the small group as true friends. Scaeva’s deception had stung; a figure so renowned as incorruptible being exposed as part of a blood mage conspiracy tainted them all, in a sense. Exposing the truth was important to clear Dorian's name – but it would taint the Magisterium, yet again, with the impression that they were all secretly blood mages.

He had returned to take up his father’s seat in the hopes that he might be able to show that a magister could be different, could be the ‘leading light’ they spoke of in their induction ceremony. Mae, he knew, felt the same way, hence her choice of _Lucerni_ for the name of their growing group.

If he truly wanted to be the magister - and the man - he strove to be, he would not hide himself or his true intentions away like so many of the others did. Vic’s words about how he simply accepted the accusations hurled at him floated through his mind, and as Oscar shifted behind him, an idea occurred to him.

“ _Amatus_ ,” he hissed, but Oscar’s warm, regular breaths against his ear indicated he was already asleep.

Dorian was having difficulty keeping his eyes open as well, so resolved to bring up the matter with Oscar in the morning, before he fell into a deep sleep.


	26. Post Tenebras Lux

"So essentially, what I'm saying is that we need to renew our vows."

Oscar froze, mouth gaping open.

"In Tevinter?" he said, one sock on, the other still in his hand.

"Exactly," said Dorian.

"Why?" said Oscar. Dorian paused in neatening the sleep-smudged kohl under his eyes to glance over at him.

"I explained that," he said. "I'm not saying it has to be some huge affair in the Argent Spire. Just somewhere within the Imperium's borders, so it can be registered with the Chantry."

"It's already registered with the Chantry," observed Oscar.

"The _southern_ Chantry," said Dorian.

There was a pause before Oscar spoke again.

"Does that not count, then?" he said, hurt in his voice.

"Of course it does," said Dorian. "Well, it does to you and I, of course - but not to people here." Vic's words came back to him. _Your marriage is a lie_.

"Anything officially recognised by the southern Chantry isn't recognised by the Imperium," he explained.

"Does that matter?" said Oscar.

"It matters to me," said Dorian, more forcefully than he'd intended. Oscar’s expression softened slightly.

"Can we even do that?" he said. "Is it allowed?"

"It's not technically against the law," said Dorian. "It just isn't … done."

"Alright," said Oscar. "If it's important to you, it's important to me." He put on his other sock, before pausing.

"Does this mean we get a second honeymoon?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," said Dorian. "I mean, it's only fair, wouldn't you agree?"

"Won't this be political suicide?" said Oscar.

"Only among the wrong circles," said Dorian, returning to his ablutions. "Honestly, if getting tangled up with blood mages and such wasn't, I don't think this will be. And besides, I'm hoping the glory of having revealed the truth about Scaeva will offset the horrors of making my southerner an official citizen of the Imperium."

"I'd be a citizen?" said Oscar in surprise.

"Of course," said Dorian. "I expect the resulting scandal to be at least on a par with when Magister Bursio married an Orlesian duchess."

"Well," said Oscar. "We can but try."

“Need any help?” said Dorian, gesturing to the prosthetic lying on the desk. Oscar hesitated a moment before replying.

“Sure,” he said. He eased on the sock, before Dorian helped him manoeuvre the arm into place.

Dorian had only been tightening the straps for a moment when Oscar hissed loudly.

“Take it off,” he said.

“What’s wrong?” said Dorian. “Did I hurt you?”

“It’s from the fighting,” said Oscar, rolling his shoulder. “I hadn’t used this arm before in combat, so it wasn't really fitted for it.”

“Do you need to see a healer?” said Dorian worriedly.

“Oh, no,” said Oscar dismissively. “It’s happened before. I just need to give it a rest for a while.” He smiled at Dorian. “Let’s just hope we don’t meet any more gangs of blood mages.”

Dorian smiled at him sadly as Oscar put the arm back on the desk. They finished dressing, and Dorian summoned a servant to bring a tray of food. As they ate, the rest of the group arrived.

"Sleep well?" said George, dropping onto the end of the sofa. "Because I bloody well didn't."

"Really?" said Oscar. "Why not?"

"Oh, you know, just a little thing like commandeering the Magisterium's session this morning," she said, her eyebrows knitting together. "Sweet Maker."

"Come on, George," said Mae, resplendent in robes of royal blue. "It's not as though you haven't done that before."

"Mmm, but I haven't exposed a senior member of the Archon’s consiliare as a blood mage before," she said. "What if something backfires? We'll all be stripped of titles. Or worse."

The mages were silent for a moment at the thought of the Magisterium's usual punishment meted out to magisters who went rogue; who, it was said, threatened the stability of the Imperium. Glancing over at Oscar, Dorian swallowed the momentary terror that arose at the idea of being made tranquil. The loss of his emotions wouldn't just destroy him, it would destroy his husband, too.

"We have all the evidence we need," said Dorian, indicating the boxes stacked in the corner. "They can't possibly deny the truth this time."

"I hope you're right," said George. She pulled a pocket watch from her robes, which today were a very similar fashion to the ones Dorian had worn around Skyhold back in the day, with rich orange fabric draped over the top.

"Time for us to go, I think," she said.

"Right," said Dorian brusquely. "Everyone grab a box."

"Can't we have servants bring them?" said Vic.

"And risk them disappearing at the last minute? Not a chance," said Dorian. "I didn't sleep here and get a crick in my neck only to have the evidence disappear now. We bring them ourselves."

As everyone grabbed a box, Dorian turned to Oscar.

"You three had better stay put," he said. "But perhaps you could - listen in." He tapped his chest, and Oscar smiled in understanding.

"Count on it," he said. "Good luck." He leaned in to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

"Hopefully I won't need it," said Dorian. "But thank you." He turned to leave.

"Oh, Dorian?"

"Yes?" he said, turning.

Oscar raised his hand and tweaked the corner of Dorian's moustache, twisting it into its usual perfect, neat point.

"There," he said. "Off you go, then."

  

*                *                *

 

 A while later, Sera, Severin and Oscar were seated behind Dorian's desk, looking at Oscar's sending crystal resting on the desk's surface. They sat a distance away, so their every word and movement wouldn't be immediately picked up by the crystal. Dorian had wordlessly left the connection open, and so far all they could hear were murmurs from the assembling magisters as they took their seats.

Amongst the chatter, Oscar noticed many of them greeted Dorian with a tone of politeness bordering on obsequiousness. Considering the contempt they usually treated him with, this was enough to cause Oscar’s brows to rise.

There was a sudden hush in the chamber as the Archon entered, and the magisters fell silent.

Oscar took a deep breath. Finally, the moment of truth … soon, Dorian's fate would be decided. With the evidence in hand, it seemed unlikely anything could go wrong - but still, knowing the mercurial nature of the Magisterium, he couldn't help but fret.

They listened intently as the session began, clerks announcing the business of the day before the debates began. This was not the full Senate – it took weeks, if not months, to assemble all the magisters for matters of national importance - but a decent number lived and worked in the capital, attending debates and sittings of the House as networking events as much as anything else.

After some time had passed, the magisters debating the issues on the meeting's agenda, Sera let out a long sigh.

"This is boring," she hissed. "When are they gonna get on with it?"

"They’re probably waiting for the right moment," whispered Severin, in as quiet a voice as he could manage.

"Any moment's the right moment," she complained. "How long does this bloody take?"

"Sssh," said Oscar. "They'll hear you. I’m sure it’ll be any minute now."

They kept listening, Sera dropping her forehead onto her folded arms. Oscar rested his chin in his palm, thoughts wandering as the magisters voted on the current item on the agenda.

Their heads perked up as they heard Dorian's name spoken through the crystal.

"Our next item is brought by Magister Pavus," droned the clerk. "You may speak when ready, Magister."

From the crystal, Oscar heard a faint rustling; Dorian must be standing up.

"My Lord Archon, my fellow magisters," Dorian began, his voice clear and confident. "I stand before you today with evidence proving that one of our own, Magister Sergius Scaeva, has been involved in a blood magic conspiracy for a number of years - a conspiracy he attempted to pin on me."

At the words 'blood magic', the chamber had fallen utterly silent. Oscar glanced sideways at Sera, who was staring at the crystal, chewing on the side of her thumb.

"This conspiracy reached to the highest levels of the Magisterium, and was intended to funnel money and resources away from our greatest assets - our Circles, and our great magical minds - and into the ongoing war against the Qunari."

Oscar couldn't see Dorian, but he imagined him holding up a hand as he continued, his voice growing more insistent.

"I am not suggesting for a moment that the war effort should not be our priority. It is one of the biggest crises our country has ever faced. While I believe the key to our victory lies in our magic, rather than sending waves of cannon fodder at our enemy, that is a debate for another time.

"It is my hope that, with this conspiracy revealed, we can finally debate the matter fairly. Many of you will be surprised to hear me say this, as you are likely under the impression that I supported Magister Roe's efforts to bolster our soporati armies. I was, in fact, under the influence of a blood magic ritual, enacted on me _by_ Magister Roe. I support no such actions."

There was an increase in the volume of the murmuring throughout the chamber at these words, and Oscar's heart sped up. Surely they'd believe Dorian?

"These are very serious accusations, Magister," a deep voice said. Given the hush that immediately spread throughout the assembly at his words, Oscar assumed this was the Archon.

"I would not make such claims without evidence, my Lord," said Dorian. "I have here letters, notes and artifacts, belonging to Magister Roe, which prove his guilt." The murmuring started up again, and the Archon took several moments to reply.

"This is most unexpected," he said. "And it is not how we usually deal with such accusations. I can only assume that you were unaware of this, given you are rather new among us." There was a smattering of low laughter.

"I will need to review these items personally," the Archon continued. "Until then - Magister Pavus, it might be best if you are detained."

Oscar and Sera exchanged a look of concern. _Detained_?

"I am calling a recess," said the Archon. "We will reconvene tonight. It will take me several hours, at least, to review these materials – in the meantime, Magister Pavus, please accompany my guards."

There was a pause, as though Dorian wanted to argue, but then thought better of it.

"Yes, my Lord," he said tightly. The crystal resting on the desk before them suddenly went dark and silent.

"What's going on?" said Sera, frowning at it. "Where are they taking him?"

"I don’t know," said Oscar, his stomach twisting with worry. It could be that the Archon simply wanted Dorian somewhere secure while he reviewed the evidence, to keep him safe from other conspirators who might want him silenced ... or did he want Dorian to conveniently 'disappear', before the full extent of the conspiracy could be revealed? It would be the easiest thing in the world for the Archon to arrange.

_He fought my guards. We had no choice._

"Should we do something?" Said Sera. "Bust him out?"

"Perhaps the others will have some advice," said Oscar. "I have no idea what _detained_  actually means."

"They might bring him here," said Severin. "And keep an eye on him."

"Bel's outside," said Sera. "She'll tell us if they're coming."

They waited for several agonising minutes, Oscar’s imagination running riot with all manner of scenarios, each worse than the last. His heart skipped a beat as the door opened, and he saw Severin’s hand reach towards his dagger.

George appeared first, her expression furious. Mae was with her, and once they were inside they slammed the door shut.

“Unbelievable!” exploded George.

“It’s totally believable,” said Mae, leaning on the edge of Dorian’s desk. “Unfortunately.”

“What do we do?” said Oscar. “ _Can_ we do anything?”

“No,” said Mae regretfully. “There’s no way we’d get through the Archon's personal guards – and I fear any such attempt would just put Dorian at greater risk.”

“But they won’t–” Oscar swallowed. “They won’t try and – silence him?”

“I don’t think so,” said Mae.

“You don’t _think_ so?"

“I’ve seen this happen many times before,” she said. “As worrying as I’m sure it sounded, it’s actually standard procedure. It’s to protect Dorian, as much as anything else.”

“You’ll forgive my skepticism,” said Oscar. “But I find it hard to imagine the Magisterium wanting to _protect_ him.”

“Oh, it isn’t out of concern for his wellbeing,” said Mae, waving a hand. “As ever, it’s about saving face. Those sessions are fully documented, and if Dorian were to be murdered during a recess – well, you can see how it would look.”

Oscar wished she wouldn’t talk so casually about Dorian being murdered, but her words reassured him slightly.

“Alright,” he said. “So – we wait?”

“We wait,” said Mae.

“Where are the others?” said Sera.

“In their own offices,” said George. “They know how it goes. It’s going to be a while.”

Oscar sagged onto the sofa. He wondered if Dorian would be able to use his crystal, or if he was being constantly monitored. Oscar wouldn’t put him at risk by attempting to contact him – if his crystal were confiscated, they would both be heartbroken. The distance between them was difficult enough; to lose their only means of regular contact would be crushing.

The afternoon dragged. After pacing for some time, sitting down, examining Dorian’s books and then pacing some more, George excused herself to her own office. Oscar sat on the sofa he and Dorian had slept on the night before, while Mae sat at the desk, writing a letter. Severin was cross-legged on the floor, reading, while Sera perched on the edge of the desk, her heels repeatedly banging against its front. Mae determinedly ignored the thuds.

Oscar’s stomach gnawed with hunger, but he was too worried to think about requesting a meal right now. He imagined Dorian, held in a dark cell, wondering if he were about to be executed or made tranquil. His fist tightened around his crystal, which had not left his hand since the others had returned.

Would he ever see Dorian again?

Finally, the door opened, and Oscar jumped to his feet as a servant came in.

“Magister Tilani,” said the elf. “The session will be resuming shortly.”

Oscar’s heart hammered as Mae gathered her documents and stood.

“Mae-” he said, but stopped himself, glancing at the servant still waiting in the doorway. Mae nodded, understanding.

“Don’t worry,” she said firmly. “We’ll see you soon. _Both_ of us.”

Oscar nodded, and she left with the servant.

“Get the crystal out!” said Sera insistently.

“No point,” said Oscar dully. “He hasn’t called.”

“He probably can’t,” said Severin. “Too many guards.”

“Think they’ll take long?” said Sera. “They must have made up their minds.”

The crystal remained maddeningly dark, and the three of them lapsed into silence. Oscar was too anxious for small talk – or any talk at all – and the others seemed to know he wanted quiet.

Eventually, Oscar stood, and began pacing as George had done. He looked around the room, at the items on Dorian’s shelves; anything to distract himself from thoughts of his _amatus’_ s fate being decided only a few corridors away.

There were a lot of books on the shelves, of course, and several potion vials. A couple of small barrels of wine sat in a corner, a rack of bottles next to them, and Oscar wondered how many nights Dorian spent alone in here, working through the bottles as the candles lighting the room burned lower and lower.

Oscar almost dropped an obsidian paperweight he was examining when the door opened again. Heart in his throat, he let it fall it back onto the shelf with a dull thud, and turned to face the newcomer.

Dorian stood in the doorway, and with a blossoming grin, flew into Oscar’s embrace.

The rest of the Lucerni were on his heels – Mae, George, Vic and even a few others Oscar hadn’t met yet. They all looked delighted.

Sera let out an enormous whoop.

"Knew it!" she said. "Not like they could ignore stuff on actual pieces of paper. Even they’re not that stupid."

“Are you alright?” said Oscar urgently, holding Dorian tightly.

“Quite alright,” said Dorian. “The only real risk I was at was dying of boredom. They didn’t even allow me a book.”

Oscar still didn’t let go of him.

“And the evidence?"

“He was cleared completely,” said George triumphantly. “Scaeva has been denounced entirely, posthumously stripped of his title, and Dorian is the hero of the hour.”

Oscar’s grip tightened as Dorian scoffed.

“Hero of the hour,” he said. “Hardly.” He pulled back to look Oscar in the face. 

“I’m sorry for making you worry,” he said. “But I was under great scrutiny in the chamber, with armed guards at my side. I couldn’t risk the crystal this time.”

“I understand,” said Oscar, beaming. This cleared Dorian completely, his reputation as a magister who stood for truth and honesty re-established.

"Congrats!" yelled Sera, thumping Dorian on the back.

"Thank you," said Dorian. "Not that there was ever any doubt," he added, extricating himself from Oscar’s embrace.

"Well, of course," said Oscar amusedly. "I'm proud of you," he added.

"I'm proud of me, too," said Dorian, smirking. "Of us all," he added, looking around at the others.

"Bello's gone home," said Mae. "But he says he'll see you soon. And he says he still wants to talk about your shield technique, Oscar."

"I need a drink," said Vic, perching on the edge of the desk.

"I might join you, young Victor," said George.

"George," he said tiredly. "I'm twenty-seven."

"Exactly," she said. "You're practically a child."

Vic rolled his eyes.

"Well, now that unpleasantness is dealt with, I think it's time we all took a bit of a break," said Mae.

"I quite agree," said Dorian. He pondered for a moment.

" _Amatus_ ," he said. "I believe I once promised you I would show you the Minrathous public baths. Perhaps now would be a good time?"

"Sounds like an excellent plan," said Oscar.

"Any other takers?" said Dorian.

Oscar privately hoped no-one else would tag along; after the day's events he wanted Dorian to himself.

"A _bath_?" said Sera in disbelief. "You're joking. I want a tavern!"

"Same," said Vic.

"Come on, then," said Sera. "Anyone else?"

"I'm in," said George.

"Me too," said Severin.

There were a few other murmurs of agreement from the assembled magisters.

"Let’s go, then," said Sera. "I wanna get out of this building full of noblord mages."

"Lunch tomorrow?" said Dorian.

"Sure," she said. "Enjoy your splashabout."

The group left, leaving Oscar, Dorian and Mae behind in Dorian's office.

"Well," said Mae, with a smile. "Don't let me keep you from the baths."

"What about you?" said Dorian.

"Oh, I plan to head for a bath myself," she said. "Only - somewhere a little more private." 

"Don't forget tomorrow's lunch," said Dorian. He paused.

"Is this truly over?" he said.

"This particular crisis seems to be," she said. "But I'm sure there'll be more to come."

"Well, of course," he said. "We wouldn't want life to become dull, would we?"

"Of course not," she said. "Enjoy your well-deserved rest, both of you. I'll see you in the morning."

She was gone in a sweep of fabric, closing the door behind her. Dorian let out a great exhale.

"Well," he said. "That's that."

"Indeed," said Oscar, who couldn't seem to stop smiling. "You almost sound disappointed."

"Oh, of course not," said Dorian. "But it does seem a little - anticlimactic, doesn't it?"

"It usually does," said Oscar, thinking back to the surreal night after the defeat of Corypheus.

"True," said Dorian. "Still! We've beaten the odds yet again, _amatus_. Shall we be on our way?"

"Lead on," said Oscar. “Oh, but – can we get something to eat on the way?”

 

*           *           *

 

Leaving the Magisterium building, they could hardly walk more than a few steps without someone stopping Dorian to shake his hand and congratulate him on exposing Scaeva.

"It's all talk, of course," said Dorian to Oscar in a low voice as they crossed the atrium. "Any time this sort of conspiracy becomes public, everyone's falling over themselves to loudly denounce those responsible - as if they weren't all doing exactly the same thing themselves behind closed doors."

"Still," said Oscar. "It must be gratifying."

"Well," said Dorian. "Yes. I have to admit, I didn't foresee a day when I'd cross the atrium of the Magisterium and have people _thank_ me for my work."

"See?" said Oscar. "Always hope for the best."

"I also didn't foresee marrying such an optimist," said Dorian. "Life is truly full of surprises."

Oscar smiled. The atrium was bustling with activity, and more than a few curious glances were cast his way. Partly, he supposed, due to his missing prosthetic - though it was likely the looks he was getting were for reasons far beyond his lack of an arm. Everyone here had no doubt heard of the famed Inquisitor.

They walked out into the bright sunshine of the early afternoon, and Dorian took a deep, cleansing breath.

“Feeling better?” said Oscar.

“I’ll feel even better when I’m sitting in a room full of steam,” said Dorian. “Come along.”

A bowing servant ushered them into a carriage, and they were off. Oscar peered out at the buildings rushing past them, the carriage bumping and shuddering over the broken highways.

They stopped at the vast marketplace, and Dorian led Oscar between the canopied stalls, pointing out all the foods available. The mingled smells of spices and roasted meats practically made Oscar drool, and soon enough they were eating hot, spiced pastries and sweetmeats in the sunny square, washed down with copious amounts of cool lemon water.

Having eaten, and with Dorian finally free of his ordeal, Oscar felt utterly content. They took their time strolling through the city towards the baths, and Oscar let out a soft gasp as they turned a corner and saw the great building ahead of them.

Even though he had travelled all over Thedas, Oscar had never seen anything like the Minrathous public baths before. Dorian’s comparison with a great waterfall they had seen on their travels suddenly made sense – water flowed from vast, towering statues of men and women carrying jugs, forming pools and fountains in front of the structure.

“Wait until you see the inside,” said Dorian.

Inside the building, a slave immediately hurried forward to greet them. As they were led through into the main atrium, Oscar stared around in awe. The ceiling, impossibly high, was painted with some of the most beautiful works of art he’d seen since arriving in the Imperium. There were more statues in here, too, water flowing from them into vast, bubbling pools below. Here and there, citizens sat lazily in the water - some chatting to companions, others simply enjoying the room, eyes closed. The scent of herbed soap and incense drifted throughout, and it was cool and airy in comparison to the hot afternoon sun. Slaves stood in rows along the sides of the pool, holding towels, trays of soaps and oils at their feet ready for guests.

As a magister, Dorian was allowed access to a private room, and once stripped of their clothing they sat close together in the steam for a long while, until it became almost unbearably hot.

“It’s marvellous for the skin,” said Dorian, running the back of a finger down Oscar’s thigh.

“So you’ve mentioned before,” said Oscar. The combination of the heat and the stress of the last twenty-four hours had made him rather sleepy, and he regarded Dorian with heavy-lidded eyes. He knew Dorian’s tolerance for heat was higher than his, but his husband still agreed to move when Oscar mentioned he’d like to head for the cooler pools.

“Mmm, perhaps it is time to cool off,” said Dorian, somewhat reluctantly. He stood, and pulled Oscar up with him. “Come along, then.”

The warmth and steam had curled Dorian’s hair around his shoulders. His skin glistened with moisture, and he stretched luxuriously, muscles relaxed from the warmth.

Unable to resist, Oscar pressed him against the warm wood, sliding his thigh in between Dorian’s. Every inch of his skin was warm, slick and soft from the steam, and Oscar took his time running his hand everywhere he could reach, pressing open mouthed kisses below Dorian’s ear.

“If you keep this up,” Dorian murmured, “I’ll definitely need that cold bath.”

“That’s the idea,” said Oscar, moving his mouth lower. Droplets of moisture had collected along Dorian’s collarbone, and he suckled at them as he went, feeling Dorian’s fingers tangle into his damp hair.

Deciding to take advantage of the private space while they had it, he knelt, and took Dorian into his mouth in one movement. Above him, his husband let out a sigh of pleasure as Oscar trailed his hand down Dorian’s stomach, before wrapping it around him, above where his tongue swirled.

The combination of the steam, the heat and the skillful movement of Oscar’s mouth meant the moment didn’t last long, and as Dorian drew deep breaths, his heart rate returning to normal, Oscar stood, his expression smug as he took in Dorian’s wide pupils and flushed face.

“Alright,” said Dorian breathily. “Sit.”

“I thought we were going to the pools?” said Oscar, the back of his fingers brushing over Dorian’s nipple.

“Soon,” said Dorian. “But first – my turn. Or rather, _your_ turn.”

They returned to Dorian’s estate later that evening refreshed and relaxed, and spent the rest of the night doing as little as possible except for finishing off an excellent bottle of wine and dozing on Dorian’s bed. A deep ache had set into Oscar’s shoulder since the intense fighting against Scaeva's forces, and he hesitantly asked Dorian if he wouldn’t mind using his magic on the painful knots again.

Listening to Oscar’s moans of relief as the warming magic permeated into his muscles, Dorian was delighted to be able to help him in such a way. To ease his _amatus’_ s pain with his magic was an extraordinary feeling, and he leaned forward to press feather-light kisses to the warm skin beneath his fingers.

Once the troublesome knots were warm and loosened, Oscar rolled over, his eyelids heavy, and shifted into Dorian’s waiting embrace, capturing his lips with his own.

 

*           *           *

 

The next day, after a long, luxuriant lie-in, their friends arrived for lunch, slightly the worse for wear after their celebrations the previous night. They sat out on the veranda, and Dorian looked out over the gardens, feeling at peace for the first time in what felt like forever. His good mood was bolstered by the weather, the food, the wine, and the presence of Oscar, who was laughing at one of Sera’s jokes. The sound made Dorian’s heart happy, and he leaned back, reclining into Oscar’s side. He felt the press of a kiss into his hair, and smiled at the simple touch.

"You must have thought Skyhold was a right shithole, growing up places like this," said Sera, staring around at the pillars, statues and fountains dotted throughout the ornamental gardens.

"Skyhold was ... rustic," said Dorian, and Oscar let out a snort of laughter in his ear. "But you forget, prior to that I had been _camping_ ," he said distastefully. "And then living in Haven. After that, Skyhold was practically a paradise. And it _did_ have a tavern, so it wasn't a complete loss."

"I miss it sometimes," said Oscar.

"Your new place is much nicer," said Sera. "And not halfway up a fricking mountain, which is nice. Bloody Solas would put his gaff in the arse end of nowhere."

"It might have been a tad conspicuous in the centre of a city," said Dorian.

"Still," said Sera. "Who needs a place like this? It's just showing off."

"Of course," shrugged Dorian. "All part of the magisterial game, of course."

"Had enough of games in Orlais," she said sullenly.

"And yet you play with the nobility almost as much as they play with each other," said Severin, sipping at his own wine.

"Yeah, well," said Sera. "Snaps 'em out of it for a bit, and helps people, doesn't just make rich nobs richer and nobbier."

Severin raised a considering eyebrow.

"Fair point," he said.

Dorian toyed with the metal fingers of Oscar's prosthetic, which he held in his lap, still strapped to Oscar’s arm. The pain in his shoulder had improved thanks to the combination of rest and Dorian’s ministrations, and so he had decided to don it this morning, despite the fact they had no plans to leave the house.

“Since we’re having company,” Oscar had said quietly while strapping it on that morning. Dorian hadn’t realised that Oscar still worried so much about being seen without it, but it seemed to bother him unless they were alone, or he was with his closest friends. 

Dorian found the mechanics of the hand fascinating, and frequently found himself fiddling with the fingers, bending the tiny, intricate joints around his own. The metal seemed to warm at his touch, and he wondered if it were an enchantment, or simply the metal holding the warmth from his own skin.

Looking around the little group, Dorian found he did not want to ask his next question, but while everyone was together it was his best opportunity to do so.

"So," he said to the southerners. "How long do you all intend to remain in the country?"

The three of them exchanged a glance, and Dorian's eyes narrowed.

"Actually, that's partly why we came over," said Belinda, putting her teacup down. "We have some news for you!" She looked like she wanted to clap with glee.

"Oh?" said Dorian. Oscar was very still behind him.

"We - that is, Severin and I - have decided to stay!" she said excitedly.

"You have?" said Oscar, and Dorian felt a pang of pity for him. More friends lost to the Imperium. He subconsciously tightened his grip on the fingers in his lap, even though Oscar couldn't feel it.

"Yes," said Belinda. "I'd very much like to offer you my services, my Lord, if you would like," she said to Dorian. "After you lost your guards," she added sympathetically.

Dorian swallowed. The regret of having had to kill his own bodyguards still weighed heavily on him, even though it had not been his choice. The templars had sent soldiers to guard his estate until he employed a new private guard. Certainly, having a personal guardswoman with a southern templar's abilities would be a great asset.

"I would be honoured," he said. "But are you sure you want quite such a … high-risk job?"

" _Hello_ ," said Sera, as though Dorian were very stupid. "She used to work for the Inquisition."

"True enough," said Dorian. "Very well, I accept. Mae must be pleased," he added, glancing over at her.

“I certainly am,” said Mae. “We already have a weekly game of canasta arranged.”

"What about you?" said Oscar to Severin. "What's keeping you here?"

"I've been helping out some … _friends_ here and there, while you've been busy," said Severin, glancing over at Sera. "And they asked if I wanted to keep helping. I agreed." He smiled at Dorian. "I think we can be quite useful in the future, if our services are needed.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt they will be,” smiled Dorian.

He and Severin had reached an understanding since the elf had arrived in Tevinter. While Dorian could not stop himself occasionally imagining what Oscar and Severin had once shared, the elf had fought bravely to help them both, risking his life, and Dorian was grateful for that, along with everything the man had done to help Oscar in the years he’d been in Kirkwall.

“Is Tevinter the best place for an elf to live, though?” said Oscar.

“No,” said Severin. “But Sera’s introduced me to people who’ll be able to sort me out.”

“Are you sure?” said Oscar worriedly.

“If you do run into any trouble,” interjected Dorian, “you know you can always come to me. Those who would attempt to harm you would be far less likely to try anything with me. Usually, anyway.”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” said Severin.

“Still, the offer’s there, should you need it,” said Dorian.

“Alright,” said Severin. “Thanks.”

Oscar gave Dorian a grateful smile. Dorian knew Oscar would worry about his friend; the least he could do would be to keep an eye on him. The Imperium would be a difficult place to live in, especially for an elf who had very little chance of ever becoming a citizen. That Severin was willing to make such an attempt spoke volumes for his determination.

“Max will be disappointed,” said Oscar.

“Nah, he won’t,” said Severin. “He hasn’t needed a squire for years, and the horses are perfectly well-maintained. I think he just kept me around out of – well, I don’t know what.”

“Friendship?” said Oscar, and Severin’s eyebrows rose a fraction.

“I suppose so,” he said. He was quiet for a moment. “I’ll write to him.”

A servant appeared, carrying a letter on a small tray. Dorian took it, and the servant disappeared. Sipping his wine, he unfolded it and read the contents, before letting out a laugh.

“Something amusing?” said Mae.

“Deeply,” said Dorian. “It’s from Magister Vesta. She wishes to throw a party, in my honour, at her estate.” He laughed again, passing the letter to Oscar.

“Am I hallucinating things? Am I still, in fact, under the influence of blood magic, and this letter is a figment of my imagination? This is far too bizarre to be reality,” he said, as Oscar scanned the note.

“Looks real to me,” said Oscar. “Will you go?”

“It could be a trap,” said Vic.

“I doubt that very much,” said Mae. “I’ve known Vesta for years. This is standard behaviour for her – I’ve never met a more determined social climber. You’re a hot topic at the moment, Dorian – you managed to unseat Scaeva, so now everyone'll want you at their parties. I imagine this will be the first of many invites.”

“Goodness,” said Dorian. “Being flavour of the month sounds exhausting.”

“Well, I wouldn’t get too used to it,” said Mae. “I’m sure they’ll find some reason to look down their noses at you soon enough.”

“But of course,” said Dorian. “What do you think, _amatus_?” he said over his shoulder. “Would you like to see what a proper Tevinter party is like?”

“I suppose so,” said Oscar.

“Do try not to sound too enthusiastic,” said Dorian archly.

“You _have_ gone out of your way in the past to point out just how many murders happen at these things, love,” he said. “Surely you can understand that might be slightly off-putting?”

Dorian waved a hand.

“Oh, come now,” he said. “Surely you won’t let a little thing like potential murder put you off sampling the finest cuisine Tevinter has to offer?”

“Well, when you put it that way,” said Oscar.

As the sun began to set, the group moved indoors for dinner. Oscar excused himself to freshen up, and Mae lingered on the veranda. Dorian moved to her side.

“Everything alright?” he said, leaning on the railing. She regarded him for a moment, her expression concerned.

“This party, Dorian,” she said. “You’re going to bring Oscar along with you, then? Is that wise?"

“Wise?” echoed Dorian, frowning.

“You came out on top today,” she said. “But you know as well as I do how changeable opinions and standings are here. Don’t allow your success to make you – overconfident.”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” said Dorian, an edge in his voice.

“Of course you do,” said Mae insistently. “You’ve cleared your name and exposed a group of criminals, and you should be lauded for it. But just – be careful. Don’t push too much. It would take very little for you to become _persona non grata_ once again.”

Dorian looked out over the gardens, painted deep orange by the sunset, and a moment passed before he spoke again.

"We went to a grand ball at the Winter Palace in Orlais once, you know,” he said. “Everyone who was anyone was there. It was under the guise of a peace conference, of a sort, but naturally there was so much conspiracy and backstabbing it made me rather homesick.” A smile appeared on his face as he remembered.

“They looked at me like I was something they’d scraped from their boots,” he said. “Not that I was unaccustomed to such a reception, nor was I expecting anything else. Later on, I watched Oscar dance with the Grand Duchess, and he moved with such grace. You wouldn't necessarily have expected it of a man of his abilities, more accustomed to stabbing demons in the face on a regular basis than dancing - but it was truly extraordinary.“ His eyes took on a wistful quality.

"And then later, he danced with me. In front of every noble and royal in the palace. He didn't care that they saw us; he was _proud_ to be seen with me, he said.” He turned to look at Mae again.

"I used to worry about how it appeared, the two of us carrying on, but he never did. He probably should have, in all honesty, but he didn't. How can I treat him like something shameful, like my dirty little secret that I have to sneak out before first light? Everything I claim to stand for ... I can't just be all talk. I'm _not_ ashamed of him, or us, or myself, and I have no intention of hiding anything."

Mae smiled softly at him.

“Oh, Dorian,” she said fondly, resting her hand on his cheek. “You do make things difficult for yourself.”

“And for you, I know,” he said, squeezing her wrist briefly.

“Oh, I think it’s far too late for me,” she said with a chuckle.

“Then let us cause a stir at the party,” he said. “It’ll be rather fun.”

“Do you know – I’m actually looking forward to it,” she said, grinning. With a last look at the setting sun, the pair headed indoors to dinner.


End file.
